


Wolves in London

by 1V1



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Ghosts and Spirits, Glove Kink, Medium Reader, Murder Mystery, Obsession, Occult Fantasy, Painplay, Post-Canon, Vampirism, lore expansion, yandere antagonist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1V1/pseuds/1V1
Summary: All your life, you've kept the extent of your powers secret. You avoid getting too deep into a world that will ultimately get you killed. But one night, you make a mistake, and catch the eye of someone powerful enough to force your hand, to sink deep into a world of the dead and hope you can survive under their control.But they have a rival- a group who would normally kill you for simply existing- with a vampire who has decided he will offer you sanctuary. In exchange for a taste of salvation.All you have to do, is embrace his damnation.
Relationships: Alucard (Hellsing)/Reader
Comments: 96
Kudos: 428





	1. Tracks in the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Ch 1 has a lot of exposition so I apologize- but it helps set the tone of lore for the story and how it will inter mesh with Hellsing lore.  
This is Post-canon (Manga) and the only difference is the events were written off as terrorists- vampires and such are still considered 'myth'. That in mind please enjoy my brain deciding to start a new fic once again.

Clammy. You hands flexed in the damp early morning air, fog making the landscape grey and murky. The lights that glowed from lamp posts were blurry, half faded behind a wall of early morning mist.  
It was 3 am on the dot, and you waited for the signs to begin again.

“This is bullshit.” Greyson muttered, wiping a hand across his brow, sweat having beaded there likely from his stress. You couldn’t blame him. Coming face to face with the dead would make any rational being stressed and prone to frayed nerves. But that wasn’t your problem.  
“You said there were ghosts-”  
“I said there was an inhuman presence.” You correct him, and behind him, Higgs, his partner, snorted. “‘Ghosts’ are the remnants of departed living beings. Like a recording or after effect they don’t respond, they only go on repeat.” Many people thought ghosts and spirits were the same, but one was just a memory. It wasn’t the person really. Only a fragment of what and who they had once been.  
“What is here, it isn’t human and it isn’t alive. I would normally think it a spirit, a soul locked here but it just-” The chill races up your spine, as your words die. You taste copper and cotton mouth. Pain lances your neck, and it becomes harder to breathe. Spirits could be violent, that much was true, but it took a lot of power and will of someone to not only linger but to affect the living. Whatever was here was doing a lot more than that.

The half dead people of the tiny coastal town said as much when you’d arrived.  
“So what? A vampire?” Greyson chuckles but you bite your tongue. Most people don’t know, nor, can they. If this was a vampire you’d never have stayed. Vampires were being who consumed souls, lacking their own yet lingering. A bridge between the living and dead who could erase others from existence.  
That was the terrifying part. Most beings that had begun to cross the threshold and were stuck ‘in between’ like revenants, zombies, spirits- They were with a soul, they couldn’t consume another nor destroyed another soul. But that is what happened when a vampire decided it wanted to keep you. Drink you to death and consume your will. If you were lucky, you became a ghoul, your soul forcefully locked into service but able to be freed once your body was destroyed.  
But to be fed from, consumed- your soul was lost and it would never be recovered.

“Be glad it isn’t.” You look pointedly at the group who hired you. They were seasoned ‘ghost hunters’ but you knew the ruse. They were occultists. Warlocks from what you could tell. Not seasoned by any real means, or truly powerful. From what you knew, warlocks of the past didn’t need the help of mediums to find spirits to capture so they might siphon off energy for their spells.  
“I can only tell you what I feel. What I know. And what I know is something else is here and it isn’t human. Nor, is it the spirits you’re hunting.” One of the men shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

Warlocks, witches, occultists- they all had an unspoken arraignment with you and those like you. Ask no questions, pay not mind. Real mediums were rare, and most died young from running into some hostile spirit or inhuman creatures. Powerful mediums often went mad and killed themselves. 

You were 28. So far, no madness, but you could understand the appeal.  
You also didn’t use your powers unless absolutely required. Not just because it hurt and could very well drive you mad, the dead begging to be heard- but because the powerful mediums always attracted inhuman beings. 

More pain, you wince, clench your teeth as it hits you hard. Four spots on your neck, the one at your throat the worst, making you gasp and grunt, fighting the hold of whatever it is that clearly isn’t happy to have a Bridge nearby. And you can’t help but agree.  
“I’ve done my job.” You wheeze out. “It’s powerful, its not human and it’s very much dead. That’s what you want and need isn’t it?” Your glare it met with Greyson’s own. “Pay up leech.” The term is hissed with venom. You have no love of those who steal energy from spirits. But you also wouldn’t get involved. Too dangerous. Too risky.  
“Be careful there medium.” The man pulls out a white envelope. Handed off you count. Two thousand cash. All authentic bills- you knew how to see a fake one, even if it was magically illusioned. These are real, and you? You’re done with this place, the presence getting closer and no less friendly. “You know the rules. Play nice-”  
“I do what I’m hired to do.” You pocket the cash, check the gun hidden in your coat. 

The mist is thicker now, the glow of lamps barely cutting through. You feel the oppressive energy start to grow and try to make you afraid.  
“Call me again if you need me- I hear there is a place down south with a good collection of spirits.” The mn grunts and you know you’ll be left alone. You’ll probably never see him, Higgs, or any of the other men again. Magic wielders used mediums as rarely as possible to protect themselves, and mediums only took the work when they absolutely had to. “Good luck.”  
You nod at the men who look around, their hands palms up, eyes flickering as the thing draws closer. It’s time to go. You can feel it starting to focus on you and your own uniqueness. 

Two hours later, you’re home. A small, half run down loft that is cheap but well tended. Sure the window was drafty and the doors creaked at the neighbors yelled sometimes, but, you made it home. Plus, it wasn’t close to any mass collection of spirits or anything inhuman as far as you could tell. A major benefit for someone who would one moment be minding their own business then suddenly be accosted by the soul of someone who really was just confused at how in fact, they were dead.

Most spirits were like that. Just lost and confused, wanting to move on but not knowing how. The saddest part? Mediums and Bridges couldn’t help them. Such was beyond your powers.

A Bridge- a medium who’s ability to sense and feel the dead was stronger than others. A name given because at one time, some crackpots in Germany had thought such powerful mediums could really be the ones to pull the souls back from the beyond- or manipulate the ones still among the living. All your knowledge of mediums, of this blackwater world that was your very existence? It all came from experience. From stores spoken in hushed tones, in whispers and fragments.

The money is on the table still from last night, and as you make coffee for breakfast, the news switches to a vaguely familiar landscape.  
It’s the city you and the warlocks had been at.  
Six murders. All male, late 40s, all with various marks on their hands and strange objects on their person. A suicide cult? A murder’s sign?  
You felt a chill as they described the victims. Throats ripped out, eyes gouged and tongues missing.  
Voice and vision- the two pillars of the living. Life- well the throat ripping took care of that. You were definitely never going back to that town. Hopefully some other occult group would see it and take care of the problem. Someone always did. 

Midway through the news, there is a commotion. The anchor is being shoved away and back along with his camera man. They focus on the insignia on the armed men’s uniform. Red and black. The armed men ushered the news teams away, saying safety and securing the site and city to do a full sweep inspection for clues.  
But your heart has already dropped into your stomach.

You knew that insignia. You knew the name embroidered into the Logo. It was one no one spoke of, no one looked for and all those in the occult underground avoided.  
Hellsing was not known for kindness or discretion in it’s hunt to wipe out all things that tampered with the dead or magic. You can’t drink the coffee anymore, it’s bitter in a way that is rancid. Dumping it down the sink you think back to every dealing with Greyson and his men. Fake name, cash only, rented car by them, pick up next city over away from all cameras, no phone with you out on the trip, disguised as a man and-

You freeze. There is a buzzing from the bedroom.

You still had the burner phone.  
The buzzing is louder. It keeps going.  
You look at the screen and caller ID. Hidden Number. You feel fear. You know you shouldn’t- but there had been a seventh man- and if he’s alive, he’d make sure you’d not rat him out. It’s the way things are done when things go to shit this bad.

The third buzz of the vibration you pick up.  
“Middle, it’s Greyson, you looking for more work?” Whoever is on the other end in convincing, using your call sign even. They sound perfectly like the old asshole.  
“I don’t work for dead men.” You answer, and the voice on the other end of the line breaks, laughing.  
“Good- you saw my display then little Bridge?” The voice is clearly masculine- and it’s dripping with a dangerous level of affection. One you don’t know. Worse, he called you a Bridge. Dread sinks in deeper.  
“Greyson and his company are dead. Who are you and what do you want?”  
The man laughs, voice taking on a lit that makes your skin crawl.  
“I know how powerful you are little Bridge. Sensing the dead and damned- Seeing spirits and even hearing them to the point they are clear as day. You’ll go mad you know?”  
“What do you want?” You cut him off, and you can hear the pout.  
“Oh, so feisty. I like that. I want one thing and that’s you my dear. I want to see you break as I steal your soul. I want to see you become the very thing you fear, as you lose your mind and humanity to the same devil as I-”

Vampire. You realize it now. This was a vampire- it was a vampire that night. A vampire powerful enough to mask itself. A vampire powerful enough to pretend to be-  
You swallow the fear, but your voice cracks. “Who are you?” The demand is met with a soft chuckle.  
“If I get my way little bridge… I will be your master. It has been so long since I had a thrall as powerful as you.” You hang up, fear bleeding into irrational.

Your eyes look over your home.

5pm.  
You have a duffel bag, 14k in cash, and a plan. Head to the mainland, get out of the UK. Hellsing already was on the case and they had a reputation. You just had to get out of dodge and lay low for a few months. Getting into a cab you make your way to the airport, barely noticing the feeling of being watched.

As the cab drives off, a man in a red hat smiles to himself.  
The game has begun.


	2. The Job Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a HUGE flop of tense changes in this and am so sorry about that. It should all be corrected now.

11 in the evening. The sun gone, and you ignore the pressing aura of the one who you know is pushing at your senses. He’s trying to overwhelm you, make your mind break open so he can pick it apart at his leisure.  
Vampires have no sense of personal boundaries. They could read minds normally so when they ran across a medium or Bridge that could protect their thoughts? Vampires usually reacted like it was an offense and tried to bash their way through. Most vampires you’d ever sensed were too weak to really push at your own mental ward, but this guy? He was giving you a migraine and he wasn’t even in the room. From what you felt, he was at last three stories below you, underground. 

“Williams?” The woman with silvery blond hair asked, voice stern and thickly laid from what you assume is years of smoking.  
“Are you even paying attention?” Behind her, the other vampire shifts, red eyes focused on you. You dislike the vampiress- she is young but powerful- far too powerful given how ‘fresh’ she feels. Not to mention the spirit she has consumed is so starkly wrapped around her- you see him clearly- either she was fond of him and preserved his sense of self, or he willing entered his thrall. You got the sense it was willing, the way his hands held her and how he looked at her.  
The vampiress’s human quirks linger but just barely. You notice her balance is mostly on one foot, how she blinks like she’s alive still, how she flexes her hands. Tics, you’d been told, helped to place an inhuman’s humanity. The more tics or quirks, the more likely you could at least try to reason with it. 

You disliked her- she was too human to be that powerful and also to be undead.  
“Williams!” You tense, eyes shooting back to the woman- the infamous Hellsing leader, Integra. You swallow and look at her.  
“Please repeat you question-” The vampire deep below pushes against your mind hard- it makes you visibly wince and rub your temple. He knows what he is doing- he wants to break through. “Please repeat it again, I’m having trouble focusing.” Not a lie- a thing you know the vampiress will point out. Likely a reason she is there.

“Do you know if you have any relation to the late witches of the North American Coven?” Everyone who’s anyone asks that question. But-  
“Not that I know of. I’m sure you’ve already dug up info on me so you’d know more. All I know is as a kid, I was given up to foster care because of my ‘issues’ then aged out. I moved here to get away from some bad connections stateside. My visa is real and everything, I promise.”  
“That’s an interesting choice of words. ‘Bad Connections.’” Hellsing smirks, knowing it’s a word game you play to avoid details.  
“I prefer being alive than the alternative to put it another way.”  
“Your actions the other night say otherwise.” Guilt. You feel it being laid down in her tone. Most people forget mediums are just that- mediums. They translate the dead and living and the messages and meanings they have. Like an empath, but more a bootleg version. You knew her motive and suggestion, trying to manipulate your emotions by the way most people did. But you had practice. You had to be in order to never allow yourself to fall under a spirit’s sway.  
“I was hired to lead them to the location and confirm the presence of a non human entity. Those men were informed of what I encountered at that time and I left because my role was done. Their harvest failed and they were killed. The burden of their deaths is on their own choices to confront a hostile. Not mine.” You bristle at her blatant tactics, and stare back at Hellsing pointedly. She hasn’t killed you yet, but you know she very well might if she finds out just how powerful you are.

“Then why help them?”  
Your snort is probably not winning you points but you maintain your resolve in the face of the woman who can order you dead.  
“Living costs money. Thankfully, the dead can help pitch in every so often.” It a bad joke. A morbid twisted attempt at humor marked with the death of 6 men.  
“So you did it for money then? Just another hand for hire?” She doesn’t begrudge the joke, but her tone shifts at the mention of money. She implies it’s greed that motivate. Most would think that, given they have no idea how unpleasant it is to be a medium in the first place.  
You glare. “I have a skill Sir Hellsing.” You use her title with scorn. “A skill that I honed for years and perfected in order to offer a service. I disclose what I’m willing to do and what I’m not for my clients. I let them know my limits and my abilities. For others this might be carpentry, for another, acting. For me? I sense and talk to the dead. I have bills to pay and needs that have to be met like every normal person. If I have to go insane and lose my mind to this I might as well use it to my benefit in the meantime.”

She twirled her cigar in her lips, eyeing you as if to dissect you.  
You had a hunch she was doing a good job given what came out next from her mouth.  
“So how much would it cost to hire you?”  
This was the game. The dance you played with words that carried the implications of things unspoken, things not real. Half truths and lies wrapped up under the veneer of normal and mundane. She wanted to know how much it would cost her to get you to capitulate and submit to her demands. This happened so often- people wanted you under their thumb, thinking they could control you by fear or money. But it didn’t work like that. You couldn’t work like that. You got away from that. That’s why you’re in the UK now after all.

“My costs vary depending on the work and what measures are taken.” But you give her bait. You both are playing a game of cat and mouse. But under you both, you can feel the hound sniffing, looking for scraps.  
“What measures do you mean?” She was being evasive, knowing exactly what you mean but making it be said in the open.  
“You aren’t the only one known for killing mediums who get too close to the truth.” The vampire underground pushed harder at that, and pain flared all the way from your head down your throat. He was willing to break your mind if it meant getting what he wanted. Your guess was he just to see you break. Hellsing already had one vampire near to play truth teller after all.  
You winced but forced a smile to feign politeness. “The less people know of me the better.” You think of the vampire who called, prompting your attempt to leave the country. Mentally, you thanked them. Had Hellsing found you at home, you’d have fought and likely prompted them to shoot you. At least at the train station they had to keep the guns away and you’d not made a scene.

“We’re far beyond that Miss Williams.” Hellsing blew out a plume of smoke and it smelled vile. All smoke did- smoke reminded you too much of how the spirits whos bodies had been cremated smelled. Normally, spirits smelled like their emotions, or like earth. A natural smell that was inoffensive. Those who died in fires, or who’s bodies had burned lost their physical remnant and it was replaced by the last thing their form had known- fire and smoke.  
Hellsing’s cigar was doing nothing for the headache that her pet vampire insisted on giving you. 

Her mouth was moving but you couldn’t help the cough. Smoke and the scent of burning flesh and hair hit your senses. You could feel your eyes watering, the phantom memory not your own lingering there-

“STOP.” The command is loud, sudden, and you realized you had fallen for it. A trap sprung, the vampire underground receded. He played you. The spirit who’s memory was pushed at you was the one burned- held in thrall to the vampire and used to slip past your defenses. But the command drove the spirit back to it’s master.  
It also has set the spirit by the vampiress’s side to freeze in place. 

Mediums couldn’t control spirits, not really.  
But a Bridge could.  
And you just commanded a spirit with finality. Not suggestion, you had put your mind, your will and force behind the command.

Your eyes locked with Hellsing and you saw her smirk.

“We’re done here.” You fell into their trap.  
As you stand to leave you watched as the vampiress hesitated. Her spectre held her back, sensing you, knowing you see him as much as he could see you.  
His eyes were afraid. He realized that he is just as much under the command of his mistress as he was of you. Poor guy, you thought, he hadn't a clue why he likely was so fearful of you. He simply knows. Most cognitive spirits do.  
“We both know this is a sham meeting Hellsing. You want something from me, and I want to leave and stay alive; out of sight and out of mind. So tell me what it is you really want, and why you tried having the bound one break into my mind.” You hiss that last part, feeling his presence getting closer. Your skin pimpling with gooseflesh. You don’t want to see him, be near him.

Bridge you might be, but an Undying King is just that. Undying. An absolute ruler of his dominion. And his laughter was making your skin crawl, a phantom voice from the undead who was getting closer each second, taking his time. .  
To her credit, Hellsing’s mask was blank, and slowly she put out the cigar.  
“Recently, we have noticed a rise in vampires of a higher caliber here in England. Most of the time, this is a rare fluke chance when an old vampire makes a mistake. But these attacks are deliberate. Like they want to be found. Each attack leaves people maimed and disfigured and of course, dead. But-” She leaned back into her chair, eyes focused on you, tensed and ready to flee already.  
“-But none ever turn into ghouls. Why?”  
You answered for her. “They don’t want servants.” She nodded before continuing.  
“It’s not just one vampire either. The marks are different each time, but this last one was different. Eyes and tongues gone, not the normal maiming but purposeful disfigurement. Not a trace of magic, just brutality.”  
“No.” You sighed, correcting her midway. “Voice and vision. Two pillars of the living. The dead have nothing they must see, they have no voice for they need not speak. By taking their tongues and eyes, the vampire has rendered their spirits inert beyond the norm. Then, by consuming them in the most barbaric and cruelest way possible, there will never be a chance they will have a sense of self ever again.” You eyes traveled to the vampiress, who seemed to have picked up your loathing finally.  
“Vampires are the one being that can destroy a soul entirely. Consuming them, preventing them from reaching heaven or hell or any afterlife, the spirit’s self is lost and all they become is another part of the vampire.” Slowly, you looked to the spirit beside the vampiress, his eyes no longer just afraid, but wary.

“She’ll consume you one day Pip Bernadotte, and when she does, you will not go to hell or heaven; you will simply cease to exist. And for that- I am sorry. You have made your choice as much as she- but know this. You will be consumed in the end, as all those she kills will be.” You didn't tell it to be cruel, but to let him know. Spirits, even ones so still retaining their sense of self within vampires deserve some measure of knowledge to their fate. It gives them a reason to resist if they can.  
Which weakens the vampire, and if stories are true, and sometimes allows a spirit to free themselves. But to that, you have no real evidence or knowledge of, just stories. 

You stared at the spirit and you heard him in your head. He knew. He guessed as much then but he made his peace with it. But you also sensed the emotions in him. A love- deep and real and genuine. It made your own heart ache and tears threaten to fall from your eyes unbidden. The breadth of his emotions is intense, and your own mind understands how tragic it is in just how well he knows what he has become and what he will become. You sniffled a bit looking at the Vampiress. Seras, Pip helpfully tells you. Seras Victoria. You looked at her and sensed her trepidation. She might have been able to hear what he said, but not your own thoughts. The link and bond between a bridge and spirits doesn’t work that way for vampires.

“You’re lucky you have a strong sire Seras.” A part of you got a kick from unnerving them so- even Hellsing was tense, and it pleased you to know at least you still had an edge. Spirits when they wanted to be, could provide a lot of information about the living. “Otherwise your lover would not exist, offered blood or not.”

Hellsing broke the tense air.  
“You can see the captain?”  
You shruged. Not in the way she could understand. Pip simply was there. Not entirely, but he was.  
“In a manner of speaking. I can see enough to know he is there.” And much more. But telling them that would tip them all off to how much and how ‘powerful’ of a medium you were.  
“...” Hellsing pondered the reply before moving back to the original topic- the events that had landed you in their crosshairs. “What can you tell us about the vampire that killed those would be warlocks?” 

The other vampire was above ground you realized, and you felt him in your head. Fingers, gloved, petting your scalp, as if trying to coax you gently into speaking. Your mental walls rose, shutting him out and getting a sudden flush of annoyance from him.  
“Not much.” Seras’s eyes narrowed and Pip had the audacity to smirk. They had finally caught onto the way they could actually see past your primary defenses.  
“You do know something though.” It’s the first thing you’ve heard the vampiress say and you glared at her spirit companion, scathing him with the accusation. Traitor. His smugness radiated in his reply.  
“I do.” You said. Silence for a beat then Hellsing followed up.  
“But you won’t tell us.” The why doesn’t follow, it doesn’t need to be said.  
“I have no guarantees for my life, safety, and sanity Hellsing. Telling you or not telling you, the danger presented to me is real in ways you can’t know or understand. There is a reason mediums avoid all connections to the undead. Especially vampires.”  
“And so if we could guarantee those things you would?”  
Its a hard question to answer because it is so vague. “I planned to leave the UK.”  
“But if you leave you’re still known. There is no guarantee you’d evade your past.”  
“You can’t undo what has been done Sir Hellsing.” Her title used again, you began to see what this had all been about and rage coiled low in your belly. The illusion of choice, of willing subjugation, of accepting her as your new employer. But the curtain had been drawn back and you bared your teeth at her, letting her know how angry you were that she’d do this to you.

“Or would you prefer I call you ‘Master’ like all your otherworldly subjects?”  
Her eyes widened, and she scoffed is if insulted. “You would be employed, not a slave-”  
“For a medium it’s the same thing!” You snapped, no longer caring if she’d kill you for your impudence. Working for her, for Hellsing, would be a death sentence. No matter where you’d go, you’d be known to the inhuman and spiritual underground as tied to Hellsing. And that paints an even bigger target on your back than you’d ever survive.

“Mediums don’t GET to live like normal people Sir Hellsing. We hide in plain sight, we carefully choose where we live, how far from others, how we use our powers, how we try to stop ourselves from going insane and how to avoid getting found by the very things you hunt! Do you even have any idea what vampires DO to mediums? What they have done?” You know the horror stories. The ones from WWII and Germany. You even saw pictures once.  
Still Hellsing let you vent.  
“You hire me and that’s it. I would be known. You think people don’t watch your organization? They track it religiously. They let others know who to avoid, who to trust. The moment I stepped into the compound was the moment I painted a target on my back bigger than Texas. Working for you? Staying here, nearby? Aside from the fact your King is trying even now to break into my mind, people would find out Hellsing, people who would see me dead before I told you anything.”  
Her tone shifted with her gaze going dark. “We could torture-”  
“And I would simply kill myself. Force my own spirit from my body. How else do you think we avoid becoming wraiths?” 

That seemed to shock her, but she leaned back, fingers steeped, considering you even still.  
“Let me go Sir Hellsing. At least then I have a chance to live a bit longer.”  
“You doubt we could protect you while employed.”  
You remembered what happened in the US. What drove your from there. It's a long stop, but she was right in a way. Even if she hadn't kidnapped you, the chances of your survival were slim.  
“The vampire that killed those men noticed me.” The words came out resigned. Hellsing would hunt him down no doubt, but he’d be hunting you. You had planned to slip away, let this woman and her pets take care of it. “He wants to find me and make me his thrall.”  
Seras’s voiced was laced with confusion. “You mean his bride?” At least she sounded affronted on your behalf.  
“No.” You felt the vampire just outside the door. Waiting. You didn’t want to confront him simply because you knew he will overwhelm your senses. 

“A thrall- A thrall for a medium means they retain their humanity and powers but are bound to the life of the vampire. Some-” you waved your hand in the air, “-idiots use the term ‘human servant’ but that’s not entire accurate. They aren’t human anymore. Thralls live as effectively immortal beings by sharing the vampire’s blood and spiritual energy. Like a childe they can’t deny their masters, and slowly lose their sense of self before they become nothing better than puppets, used for whatever their undead masters desire.” You look at both women and impress upon them what else that entails.

The flashes of lust radiated outside the room, along with bloodlust and depravity. It sent a chill of fear down your spine. 

“He was very clear what one aspect he wanted me for was; one which I would see myself killed before succumbing to.”  
Hellsing sighed, knowing and yet it’s Seras who asked the awkward question.  
“Don’t you have to be an um- virgin? To become a vampire? It is the same for mediums?”  
A sad smile ghosted your face.  
“The divestment of that aspect is part of how one becomes a thrall actually. I’ve met two thralls before.” You mourned their fates. "Neither of them entirely survived the process.”

“But you would.” His voice was laced with power, and he aimed it at you. It blanketed you, and you felt phantom hands caressing you, touching you all over; Gloved hands rubbing your bare skin under your clothes, you gasped at how much power he has to get past your mental walls so his voice would affect you so much directly. Worse, you felt the rush of slick between your thighs at his voice, at the promise of sin he’s offered.  
“You would survive where they failed. Provided you were taken properly.” Seras’s spirit has retreated a bit and you can’t blame him. Even Seras is cowed, leaving only Hellsing unfazed by the display of power. Seras and Hellsing both can tell he’s using some power on you- but neither would know what kind- or how it actually affected you. 

Eyes down, your didn’t reply to him, just to his master.  
“Sir Hellsing, please-”  
“Alucard!” Her voice was measured and the vampire’s power immediately withdrew. You could breathe again.  
“You didn’t tell them the best part of mediums and why we crave them.” Mirth coats his tongue and while he was no longer using his powers on you, you could still feel him all the same.  
“Because we can feed on you, over and over again, and you’ll still remain alive and human. An endless supply of blood with no risk of making a ghoul. Just the risk of-”  
Your hands shook and you looked to Hellsing. 

“If I don’t have a choice than at least keep him away.”

3am, you were in a room that was in the manor- a new home. A new employer.  
And as you try to sleep, you felt phantom hands brush your cheek. Gloved. He wasn't in the room.  
But he was in your dreams, drinking his fill of your blood while you succumb and become his thrall.


	3. Fresh Kill

In the 3 days since becoming the new otherworldly resident of the Hellsing estate and soon to be weapon against the ‘enemies of the crown’, you’ve realized that the worst thing wasn’t the fact that the Vampire had an interest in you- it was that he was extremely interested in you beyond the normal vampiric power lust.

Medium blood was nothing special. 

If you were a virgin it supposedly tasted better, (hence why most mediums you’d come across been rather open and brazen in their advances), but if you weren’t, you’d not become a ghoul if bitten. It was the only physical and truly different factor when it came down to what separated a medium from normal humans. Normal humans had no way to fight the lure of vampires, no defense from their tainted fangs and inhuman venom. However in contrast, mediums tapped into the world of the dead, were tied to it somehow and that carried over as a strange defense against the bite of the undead in general. Vampires, ghouls, demonic possessions, spectres- their attempts to feed from you wouldn’t change you, (provided they didn’t kill you). However the downside to that ‘benefit’ was you knew only pain from their feedings. No mind manipulation or numbing agent would work- every drop would be felt leaving your body and you’d suffer in pain. Unless of course, you allowed the being that fed on you to reach into your mind.  
Then it was all fair game; nothing but bliss and euphoria.

Which was what the Vampire kept trying to do, his voice rubbing against your skull like a cat against one’s legs. Begging for attention, to give in and just capitulate to his wants. 

It was the 3rd night in the manor, your rooms on the first floor, as far from the stairs leading to the underground dominion of the undying king. And like the other past nights, your dreams were filled with him.  
It was the only time you couldn’t push him out- dreams were the place a medium had no control over their own mind- but while a vampire or spirit might come into the dreams, they still couldn’t take control. That didn’t mean however, they couldn’t influence the dream.   
Usually, spirits gave nightmares, images of the last living moments. Vampires usually attempted to strike fear and paranoia. Others like this undying king? They used seduction. Or tried to at any rate. It wasn’t working, but not because he had the wrong idea.  
No, it was because all the things he showed you made you more aroused than seduced.

Alucard- his name was sickness, a reversal of his very being and a reformation of himself. A name that you gasped and moaned as he bound you on the bed of white silk. He had you naked, his gloved hands running over your skin, tracing every curve and rubbing into muscle, working away the soreness, the tense and taught flesh. Arms above your head, he took pleasure in bending them so he could reach your neck. Lips sucking at the skin just behind your ear, nibbling there but never breaking past that thin barrier to your blood.   
“You think you can keep me out.” He had this habit you’d come to know. Talking while he worked your mind, while he used dreams and nightmares against you. “But you can’t forever.”  
“I can try.” Was the response you gave- before it ended in a sharp gasp, the rough fabric of his gloves rubbing against a nipple, hypersensitive from his earlier attentions.

He’d spent who knew how long sucking them. Once dusky peaks were now swollen and flushed red. Tender and sore, you saw his desire and knew it as he’d stopped, red eyes looking at them, licking his fangs. You could see it too- him biting there, watching blood rise and drip down like milk. He’d suckle there till painful, then lick and sooth the pain before pinching and pulling.   
Alucard liked mixing his pleasures with pain you’d realized. They were the same in his eyes. 

It was just a dream you tried to tell yourself. But his grasp on the mind was strong, and it felt real. Too real when fangs broke skin with sharp pins of pain before he licked the vibrant dark blood away, moaning against your skin as you whimpered and whined from the lack of pleasure to distract you. 

It was tame compared to the other night- That night he’d had you both covered in the blood of a human sacrifice, an offering at his feet, he drank from them until dead then had you carve out the heart and present it for him, along with yourself.   
You never considered blood to be sexual but he made it that way. Last night, it was his cock thrusting between blood soaked breasts. This night was the long and slow licks to clean your own blood from your skin. It made you afraid, how good it looked. How it started to feel good too, his tongue running wet lines on heated flesh. How his hands pinned you in place, the sheer power and danger he presented and that he chose to do this to you rather than kill you.  
It was a sweet torture, you’d been told once, to be a vampire’s obsession. Alucard was powerful enough that if he’d not been chained to Hellsing, leashed, he’d have broken you already. Taken you and made you into what he’d shown you he wanted. A loyal, obedient and willing thrall, ready to spread her legs and bare her neck at a moment’s notice.

The sad part was in your dreams you did just that.

“So busy thinking, even now.” He purred, red eyes looking up as he rested his face on your chest, the weight of him heavy against your naked body, his clothes scratching and rubbing your skin in a way that was both uncomfortable and arousing at the same time.   
“Such fire.” Your glare at him earned the wicked smile, his eyes narrowing in delight. Fingers danced over the marks he’d left on your breast, lines of red slipping down your body till they vanished between your thighs. Till you felt them rubbing gentle, slow circles on your clit. Blood wasn’t a lubricant really, but in your dream it was enough.   
“You’re-” a monster was no insult, a demon was no cruel thing to say, “no better than any other man.”   
That was an insult. The undying kings fingers rubbed harder on your clit, the sudden shift in stimulation making you yelp and hips buck, unable to deny how it made heat pool low in your belly with lust.  
“In some ways no.” His voice was by your ear, and his fingers pulled away, thin ribbons of clear slick connecting them to your own sex. “But in other ways, I am the man a creature like you deserves.” He licked one of his fingers, the white gloves damp with your own fluids- before he pushed it into you mouth. The salty taste of your own sexual juices coated your tongue, and your felt his shadows caress you in places his hands were not.

He knew you were afraid, yet he knew you also wanted the power and freedom that came with being a thrall. Thralls didn’t go mad. They could remain sane. Their lives were cut short by spirits trying to take them over. And, they could bind souls. They could truly control those left behind. But all it cost-

His cock was thick and cool, and as he rubbed the head of himself against you, coating him and nudging at your entrance to ready you, you wondered if he really would be allowed to be so cruel as to rip away your humanity. To take your sense of self.   
You stretched around his girth, his cock slowly spreading you open and making you shudder and gasp and groan with how he pushed your body to it’s limit in how much it could take. Yet it felt good. So damnable good. Each vein and ridge of his cock rubbed your hypersensitive walls, and when he finally hilted himself, your pussy was fluttering, desperate to take more, so long as it kept you like that. Full and spread open on such perfect sin.  
“You want to surrender.” His mouth worked your neck, pain shooting through you, making your pussy clench on him, drawing him impossibly deeper. His fangs were in your body as much as his cock was.  
And as he thrust he drank.   
Pleasure and pain were the same thing. He fucked you slowly but well and deep. He drank greedily, moaning into the wound and making tears spill down your face. You body thrashed under him, overwhelmed. Too much pain, too much pleasure- and yet he fucked you so slowly, leaving you agonizingly aroused, yet not brought close enough to be made to cum. 

When he pulled back, his chin and mouth were covered in deep crimson, and he smiled with fangs on display.  
“You would look so pretty like this. Bleeding and weak. At the mercy of the thing you fear most, the very monster you would welcome inside you.” He cock kissed deep inside your core, and you felt it. The fear and twisted lust meet into one.

“You’ll make such a perfect little thrall.” Gloved hands cupped your face as he kissed your kiss briefly, the taste of copper and sex on your tongue.  
“Surrender sweet Bridge.” His body moved suddenly, the thrusts going from slow and leisurely to rapid and frantic. “Surrender.” He fucked you like a beast, the wet slap of skin to skin ringing out, the squelch of your pussy taking his cock all the way to his balls. The feeling of blood running down your neck to cool and grow sticky. The burn of tears from the pleasure and pain.

Alucard’s red eye bore into your own.  
“Step into death with me my darling thrall.”  
You screamed his name, your orgasm intense as he began to pump his cum deep into your body, marking your from the inside out as his mouth forced his blood into your own and he claimed you and-.

And you woke up.

You legs were a mess. You’d most likely had several orgasms in your sleep, and from the sticky sweat, he’d taken his time drawing them out. The sheets were damp and a mess too, not to mention while a cock might not have been inside you, your pussy ached from the orgasms drawn from it just the same.  
Getting up, what was worse was the headache and pain in your neck.   
Dehydration and metaphysical wounds. Noting in reality, but your body remembered the pain and so did your soul. Alucard had marked you if temporarily.   
“Bastard.” You muttered, standing on wobbly legs and going to the washroom, intent on literally washing away the evidence.

Yet as you did stand later under the shower, your fingers ran down gentling, soothing massaging your clit.  
Images of white gloves doing the same rose and without preamble your body gave an involuntary orgasm right there.

Shame was a thing you felt, but anger helped. Anger at letting him get under your skin. Allowing it to go so far so fast. He was powerful, but he was also chained. But… Hot water made your skin pink, and your mind drifted to the other vampire. It wasn’t unheard of for vampires to try and kill each other over prey or territory. Given the one who had found you before Hellsing plucked you out of the real world, it was a safe bet from your experience that prior night the vampire in question was extremely old and extremely powerful. Alucard nearby would be a strong deterrent for any other undead, doubly so if Alucard had genuine desire to make you his thrall, (which given his circumstances, very likely). 

Getting out from the hot spray, you dried your hair and got dressed, trying to ignore the bruises that dotted you skin- phantom marks made from your own body in reaction to his presence while you slept. As far as you knew, Hellsing’s orders held firm. Alucard couldn’t drink unless freely offered and dreams were not free as he held a fair power in the mind. Thankfully, the monster had enough common sense to put the marks where they’d be covered- even though you found it strange that your neck was perfectly intact. Still, it was for the best. 

“Sleep well medium?” His voice hit you the moment you stepped out of your room and into the hallway, the feeling of his eyes on you and burning through your clothes, as if he knew of the phantom marks and the dull ache between your legs.   
“Do not bother me with questions you can answer yourself.” His laugh is bold and loud, and the heat in your face is real as you walk to Sir Hellsing’s office, determined to meet expectations and get out of this organization as soon as possible. Granted, going out into the real world was dangerous but-   
Freedom was freedom.

Though freedom did not look like it was on the horizon. The photos on the table showed your apartment, not trashed but very meticulously picked though, items moved in deliberate ways to signal someone had been there while you’d been away. The final photo was most telling. The putrid, raw and bloody hearts of humans, circling a single red rose in a glass vase. It was on your ftable. You made note to burn it when you got home.   
“From our research and assessment, you have no ties to covens and no real enemies.” That she knew of, you thought. You had enemies- but none that would dare follow you here, none that would risk it at any rate. It mattered little in the grand order of things. America was garbage anyway.   
“Perhaps you want to enlighten us to what this is?” Hellsing’s cigar is blessedly out, but her focus was honed in on you, and that did nothing for your ability to try and understand what you were looking at. Perhaps knowing you had no answer, she pushed a letter to you, obviously a copy and not the original, but you could hear the voice. You could still remember the way he cant his words, the lit and chime of consonants and vowels. 

_My elusive muse,_

_ I know this letter will reach you well enough, and hope you are not being harmed while out of my watchful eye and gentle care. Take heart my love, several, in fact. Each one was a woman who would offer herself to me and think she greater than you. I have removed them from getting in my way to you. To be with you my muse, my darling spirit speaker. You are mine, even if you do not know it yet.   
Let them hold you, let you feel the warmth of mortal compassion. Let them think they can keep us apart. You are mine little Bridge. Sweet mortal temptress of death.   
I will see you soon._

_With all my love and damnation,  
D._

By the time your eyes finish the letter, your hands are shaking. He killed for you and offered five hearts. All you could consol yourself with was the fact it was only five strangers. This vampire had known to take eyes and tongues. Hearts were akin to souls and centers. Five was a powerful number when matched with another five. But before it had been six men so-

“Oh.” The soft word has Hellsing lean forward as realization strikes you.  
“Sir Hellsing?”  
“You have an insight.” She smirked and tilts her head, hiding her eyes with the glare of glass. “What is it?”

“Who was the sixth woman?” Her smirk never waivers as she pulls out a final picture from her desk.

A bloody red heart with a dagger shoved through it, impaled upon your front door.   
“Her name was Larisa Whitaker.” White as you knew her. A fellow medium who had a… taste for danger. You had known she was slowly going mad and seeking more dangerous work but if the vampires words held truth? She had tried to offer herself to him.  
“Her body?”  
“Throat ripped out but no blood drunk. The skin of her face was peeled away as well.”  
“Remove her vanity and pride. Humble her in death as she was not in life.” A cruelty once more. At least he hadn’t bound her. But to not drink her blood? She was a medium too, so either this vampire really did have no care for who they killed or how often or… they were waiting to use their powers on you. A rather chilling prospect. 

A chill goes down you spine as you sudden feel Alucard’s presence at your back. The phantom hands gliding under your shirt. The worn texture of leather gloves on warm skin erotic as they made their way to your breasts and his mouth pushed against your neck-

“Miss Williams?” Hellsing sounds concerned but only just.  
“It’s nothing Hellsing.” Never sir. Never would you give her power. You respected her.. But she was not your lord, not a master. Not to you.  
“I ask only because we still do not know this vampire and now twice he has killed and directly made attempts to contact you. Not only that but his audacity-”  
“He wants me Hellsing.” You knew this was just the beginning. He’d sounded playful on the phone. His letter was prose and flowery. The vampire had no illusions of his own abilities, his own powers.   
“I do not know how he found me, or why he wants me in particular so badly.” No, you knew. But you’d never say why. Hellsing would push you to use your own powers if she had any idea what was possible. “But I know that he won’t stop until he has what he wants. And if I’m right?” Alucard’s eyes burn on your back, his phantom hands in your mind hovering over you, teasing, taunting, promising. 

“He will come for me when you think yourself safest.” You didn’t like the sudden vision Alucard sent you. He would have you laid over his coffin, fucked and covered in the faceless vampire’s blood. Your cunt pulsed at the mental image.   
Shuddering you looked Hellsing right in the eyes. “And make no mistake.”  
_It has been so long since I had a thrall as powerful as you._  
“This isn’t the first time he’s hunted a medium to make as a thrall.”__

_ _That night, Alucard dresses you in red and dances with you among a field of roses, pricking and cutting your feet.  
When you wake, the marks bleed fresh._ _


	4. Planning a Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader gets a letter, and a bit of backstory

The sharp metallic scent of blood is one you never really forget.   
As humans, it was instinctive to react badly to the smell. As people, the sight of it was shocking and alarming, it spelled danger in color and visceral form. As a medium- it was laced with emotions like an echo of things soon to fade. Like birdsong at a distance yet far less charming.

Blood was a medium that transcended life and death. During the last world war, the axis powers and the allied forces alike had looked into the occult and to the ways which they might be used for war. The allies had used chained creatures, much like Alucard, to combat the demonic and likewise chained otherworldly might of the axis powers. The key difference was that the axis powers had little qualms about human experimentation on their own populace. While the allies also did some human testing they didn’t go as far as their enemies.  
As far as the Nazis had.

His name had been Larry, just Larry, and he was 86 when you met him. Southern born and raised- and a surviving medium from what he’d called the third purge. Mediums and occultists had been in high demand back then, and Larry had been unlucky to be both a medium, and to be black. He had no choice- join and serve ‘his’ country or be thrown into prison for crimes he never committed.  
“I tell you girlie,” he said, “I shoulda gone and taken the heat. The things I saw back there, what they did and what they made us do? My body is free… but my soul! My soul girl- it an’t ever gonna be clean. When I die I’m end up like all the rest of them. A shade. Sucked clean of myself, leaving nothing at all. There an’t no heaven for me girl.” He’d been so sad, so resigned to mourning his own fate. “There an’t no heaven once we start callin on the dead we start becoming the dead.”

He’d told you that once you smelled blood like it was water, you’d never forget it, and if you were smart, you’d run far far away from it’s cause.   
But you can’t.

Outside of the house in a quaint little village along the scottish border you vomit while inside, three women lay in a pool of their own blood, their entrails decorating the walls and their bodies broken and bent to form what can only be described as a botched attempt at creating an amalgamation- an undead golem born from the fused bodies of the dead.   
This wasn’t a vampire’s handiwork- it was a fool’s attempt at necromancy, and the metallic scent of blood had coated your tongue and ran down your throat, making you turn from the house and begin to vomit harder, dry heaving as your body fought to rid itself of the scent and taste of blood. 

“Well?” The human captain of Seras’s ‘team’ asked you, “Got anything?” You wanted to snap at him and scream yes. You got something. You got waves of fear and terror. Of pain and fury. Whoever had carved and killed these women had tortured them before trying to break their souls to create the abomination that lay motionless in the living room.   
Coughing, spit and bile scattering onto the earth, you wiped it away with the back of your hand, the other fishing out the bag of herbs you’d brought in the event you had to try warding off an angry spirit.   
A small kindness- the souls of the women had long passed over. All that remained was their residual emotions- held in that pool of darkening blood.

“No.” You manage finally. “No souls. Just traces. Fleeting things that will fade when the blood is dry.” You cough again, and grimace. You hadn’t wanted to throw up, but, it was just too much.   
“And _no._ It wasn’t a vampire.” You snap, eyes darting to Seras who looked ready to ask the question. Had this been your mysterious vampiric admirer?   
“Vampires… they consume and leave behind something. A trace of hunger never abating. A rage and hate that boils under the surface even when gone. Here it’s human.” You swallow, closing your eyes, feeling for the faint traces of emotions from the one who’d fled their crime.

“Female. 30s?” You start pulling the threads of her power. Mediums and Necromancers were part of the same power subset- straddling the bridge of life and death. It wasn’t uncommon for a necromancer to also be a medium. Mediums however were just that, mediums.  
Only if they did some really unsavory things could they ‘expand’ their powers and become necromancers. However, killing yourself while making a demonic pact wasn’t exactly easy or fool proof.

“She hated them- She botched the ritual somehow, and my guess is she used a fair bit of her power too. You’re the one with demonic attunement.” You looked back at Seras.   
“You tell me where she went.”

Tired, ill, and the vision of the bodies twisted still floating in your skull you shoved yourself back into the van to wait for the return to the mansion. Let the trigger happy vampire hunters take care of it.  
Seras had the good sense to stay behind with you while her men went after the culprit.

Later on the way back you’d hear the results. Apparently, she’d tried to summon a ghoul to fight them. Pity they shot her and her pet up. You could have at least offered the ghoul some freedom from having it’s soul chained.

That happened five days after D’s letter. Now it was two months into service.  
Two months, and not a single hint of the vampire who had stalked you. Not a kill or letter that could be linked. Not until this night, when a new letter had arrived- along with two gifts.

“What do you mean you do not know the name of your client?” Hellsing yelled over the phone. “No man buys out an entire truck’s worth of flowers to be delivered only for no one to bother getting his name! What do you mean you this is common! I will find out one way or another-” She had been at it for a good hour.

D, or whatever he called himself, had sent over a very literal truck of flowers- all laced with very ominous meanings. Red Salvia. Red Roses. Red Camellia. Red Carnations.  
Forever his. Love. Passion. Longing. 

And the single sprig of Sage. Immortality.   
The symbolism was terrifying. The fact it was also the first time anyone had ever bought you flowers that was ‘romantically’ interested in you? Kind of depressing. Not to mention you were unnerved. The man clearly hadn’t forgotten about you, and he apparently still was biding his time. While the flowers were nice the meaning, the sender- all of it crawled under your skin.   
You’d burn them later and use the ask to ward your door and windows, just in case.

What was more frightening was the other gift. A ticket. Single. To the movie theater nearby your old house of all things. Two days from now, for a midnight showing of the classic black and white film ‘Birds’. You didn’t want to go, but doubted Hellsing would resist the opportunity to use you as bait.  
Never mind what D said in his letter.

_ My Muse.  
As once I was muse to another so like you, you are now a muse to me. And as I was once made into what I am from gentle hands of your kind I yearn for it again. To feel that caress of life and death fluttering in my palm as I take that which you will offer me. Mold me, shape me, make me anew! Your life will sustain mine, and my death with erase your own.   
Oh sweet, I have dreamed of us- your flesh yielding to mine, your voice spilling my name to heaven as we descend to hell. It has been so long since I have felt this lust for life and earth so keenly. I want to break you. I want to see your very soul screaming as I steal it away from all and make you mine. Tell me, do you like the tokens I give you? Do they not smell so sweet? Do they not erase the scent of bile and blood those Hellsing dogs force you to endure?   
Come and see me; I beg you my darling. Let me look upon you in the open, no longer behind shuttered windows and closed doors. No more hiding behind such weaklings. I have no need to kill them all. I care not to fight that Undying king and his whore of a childe. Come my love, my salvation, my haven from this wasting existence. Come, and I shall not be angry for being so cold to me. I will forgive you for hiding._

_Return to me my sweet medium, my lovely. Return to whom you belong.   
I will wait for you in the fifth row from the front.  
Wear something blue. You look so delicious in blue._

_My love and damnation,  
D.  
_

The phone slammed down and Hellsing glared at it, as if the object itself had insulted her. “Damn useless-” She muttered, finally looking at you. “You have nothing?” She hissed, but you could understand her frustration. The vampire was playing games with her and her organization.  
“Not a clue. It’s the same as before. He wants to make me his thrall.” Because your powers. Because how strong it would make him. Because now, not only would he get you and your powers, he’d also be taking you right out from Alucard.

Alucard, who lingered below you in the shadows underground, his nightly visits frequent and no less amourous than they’d been when you’d first arrived.

“The ticket-”  
“You will go.” You knew she’d say that. “Not unarmed and not alone of course, but we need to rid England of this creature sooner than later.” You shrugged. You had no loyalty to this nation or any other. You couldn’t afford to.   
“As long as you promise to kill me before he takes me.” You sardonically laugh, knowing she’d not find it funny. But it was the truth. Death was preferable than being a thrall.

“So morbid.” His voice was like silk on bare skin, summoning gooseflesh and a hyper awareness. “Is eternity really such a terrible fate?” He’d summoned himself behind you, not touching- he never would dare with Hellsing so close and near. But his power was blanketing, and it choked you and made the back of your throat itch like you’d swallowed something dry and hard.   
“Humans were never meant to live forever.”  
“Who said anything about being alive?” Alucard’s smile was dark and Hellsing’s warning of simply saying his name drew his focus off you and back onto her, where it belonged. 

“I expect you understand that this mission will be of the utmost importance. A vampire of this ilk cannot be allowed to wander England freely. There can be no mistakes you understand me?”  
“Of course Master.” You frowned, always uncomfortable with how suggestive he said Hellsing’s title. She might have had thick skin, but you didn’t. Not to mention you got the impression if Alucard had his way, Hellsing would be his bride.   
“Williams.” Her tone was sharp and it made you jump slightly. “I expect you also understand the importance of this mission you will be on.”  
“Considering that one way or another it has a 50% chance I become a thrall and kill myself yes, I understand it rather well to be frank.” Hellsing had long gotten used to your manners, or lack of. “I’m bait. You’ll probably make me look like a dimestore whore and set me up without weapons and the like to make me more attractive bait. It’ll be degrading but that’s just par the course with working for you isn’t it?” You sneer, and Hellsing isn’t even phased.  
“You can dress yourself but the rest- yes. Trust Alucard and Seras to take care of the Vampire. All you have to do is not get caught in the crossfire.”

You shrug, trying to mask the terror inside.   
Later, the fear worsened when Alucard decided to make a house call.  
“You could let me mark you.” He purred, standing just a hair away from you. Hellsing’s orders remained firm. He couldn’t touch but he damn well could watch you- and he was currently watching you very much so when you had just gotten out of the shower and had yet to dress.  
“No. Now get out.” You knew he wouldn’t. Not without incentive.  
“How unkind, I’m only here to help.” His red eyes roved your form, lingering far too long at your chest. “Let me taste you, bite and break the skin and make it all the harder for him to take you.”  
“If you do your job he shouldn’t get the chance.” You lean away from him as he towered over you.   
“Plans fail. Tactics change.” His gloved hand reached out, hovering above your hair. “Your existence would just be so much simpler if you gave in. Shedding your weak humanity and embraced what you could be. What you are.”  
You swallowed. “And what am I then?” Alucard licked his lips.   
“A bridge between the living and the dead.” He voice took on a terrifying tone of raw power.  
Power that called to your own. 

“A human who could transcend mortality and defy death itself- if only you’d embrace it.” 

You froze.   
Alucard knew. He knew the extent of what was possible. What could be done if one had a strong enough connection-  
“No.” You can’t let him know your fear. Your terror at the very idea. “Leave Alucard.” You push your will into your voice and you can feel his own power ripple in response. He doesn’t have to, but he will.  
“You hold back so much sweet medium.” He purrs, sinking into the floor with his shadows. “How long until you can’t afford your own lie?”

You shake as you try to dress.  
He knows.

A Bridge wasn’t just a powerful medium. A Bridge, if powerful enough, was literally a being that could straddle both worlds of the living and the dead. A Bridge could choose to become immortal, soul intact. Necromancers used the dead. Bridges used souls. The experiments in WWII had proved it after all. A Bridge when pushed to the limit could control souls, their own included. They could also control humans like puppets on a string. Worse?  
A bridge could draw the soul of a vampire back too. Make them mortal.  
That wasn’t found out from the stories of the WWII experiments though.  
That was what you’d done in order to survive and escape America.


	5. Setting a Trap

He was not subtle.   
“You seem to be growing more accustomed to this.” He said idly, sitting in his chair while you woke at his feet, dressed in nothing but sheer silks and heavy gold chains. “One might get the impression you’ve begun to accept it.”  
You recoiled once your sleeping consciousness rose, fighting his control of your dream. “Not in the slightest.” He huffed a laugh, lifting a wineglass of blood up as if in toast.  
“Then change your clothing. It is your dream and you should be able to manipulate that at the very least.” He was right- and he was also smugly correct in his assumption that you couldn’t change the silks to actual clothing. You had become somewhat accepting to the usual routine dress of your dreams when Alucard was present.

“Why are you here tonight?” Usually, your dreaming self would ‘wake’ to find that you were under him in some form of sexual acts. It never started with light conversation or banter.   
“Can’t a man talk to his thrall? Enjoy the sight of her-”  
“I’m not your anything vampire.” You hissed, making him smile with fangs exposed.  
“Still so adamant you are not, yet here we are.” He motioned to the otherwise empty void of darkness.   
“You call me, and I come.” His words had a certain weight to them, the feeling pressing down in your bones.  
“I don’t want you here, or near me, ever. Let me sleep in peace.” Your hiss is met with a bored look, Alucard setting his glass down.  
“I would if you would not call me every night. I could turn away, but the allure is strong-”  
“I don’t call you!” You shout, standing, covering your breasts with your arm.   
This makes Alucard scowl, his annoyance clear as he stands as well, towering over you.

“You do.” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, pulling your arm from you chest as you yelped in fear and shock. “You call me every night, begging to be bound, limited. Your power seeps from you, like an open wound.” He bent, tongue licking the pulse under the skin of your wrist. “You are losing control little Bridge. Soon, you’ll begin to lose yourself.” You swallowed. He couldn’t be saying you were close to going mad. You hardly used your powers, much less had felt anything indicative of a loss of your control over your powers.  
“You’re lying.” You want it to be a lie but-

But.

The draw you feel to him is real. Alucard is a vampire, but he’s powerful. Powerful enough that some dark, instinctive part of you wants to submit and yield to him. More, the safety being his thrall promises is a dream. As he holds your wrist by his face, you hate it, hate him. Cursed with your powers, with your ability to sense the dead, to talk with souls, to be able to see and feel them- and to offer a vampire a chance to become greater than his species.

“Your fear.” Alucard smiles, “It is delicious.” Fangs sink into your wrist as you cry out in the dream, his power washing over you, pleasure suffusing your senses as he purposely forces his mind against your own. You shake and writhe in his hold, body craving more- more pain, more pleasure, more something. Anything. More of his power mixing and melding with your own-

“You will be mine.” His lips pull back, dark red. “You have no choice.” There is a look in his eyes, an emotion you can’t place. “You never had a choice.”   
That was then. Now? Time has run out, and your gentleman caller waits. The dream of Alucard’s foreshadowing naught but a memory.

Time moves a lot faster when something you don’t want to do is on the horizon.   
After the dream of Alucard and you discussing the fact you might apparently be calling to him in your sleep, exerting power unknowingly, you’d taken to using old wardings on your door, and rubbing holy ash on your wrists. Everyone always thought burning sage was more powerful than burned blessed incense. Sage was decent for energy, but nothing would beat out the powers of holy smoke and purifying flame.   
Ash was also a lot safer than carrying around vials of holy water.  
Speaking of… You lifted your water bottle up, taking a few generous gulps. Nearby Seras grimace. Holy water wasn’t supposed to be drunk per say. Not unless it was from a food safe source. Your source was from Hellsing’s own reserves. A drop to sanctify the water bottle, some UV light to kill the bacteria and boom. Homemade Holy Water for human consumption. 

It was kind of neat how consuming holy or blessed items helped ward away unwanted dead. Most times it was annoying, because it sort of muffled your own powers. Like putting a blanket over your ears to drown out sound, it buffered how much you could sense so while that wasn’t great- it also kept most dead away. Greater Vampires, Undying Kings like Alucard might not be repelled, but it was an effective deterrent. Might not matter with dreams but he’d in your waking hours, not gotting close. And Seras?  
“That’s horrible.” She grimaced at you, Pip floating beside her giving a look of mild amusement and passive approval at your unorthodox but effective methods.   
“It’s a matter of survival.” You shoot back at her, wishing the ride to the theater was less cramped. 

Seras sat across from you, gun at the ready and her familiar spectre looming, waiting for action. Her men were dotted through the area but she was your escort, minus her mortal captain driver. As for Hellsing, she was on radio call to be kept abreast of the situation. Alucard? You’d been told he’d be watching.   
It was stupid- because the vampire who was stalking you would know all of this, and you doubted he’d even care. What you also hated the fact you’d chosen to wear pants- but Hellsing had insisted on a dress. The only consolidation was it was expensive and you had a bet it’d be ruined by the end of the night. If clothing was to be ruined better it came out of Hellsing’s pocket than your own. 

“You know what to do?” You sigh heavily, eyes looking towards Seras but past her, making contact with the image of a man who had long sinced died.   
“I know your plan will fail the moment I step into the theater but I’ll do it anyway.”  
“Humor me.” Seras tries, she really does, to play at human. Sadly, your sense don’t let you see her than anything but a vampire, a threat.   
“I go in and sit down, waiting for contact. If none after 10 minutes I’m to leave and evac with you and your team. If he makes contact, I’m to stall while your team advances.” By the time they’d be ready, you’d be dead or gone most likely. Still, the words mollify Seras and she smiles as if the plan to trap this vampire will work. Your expression of doubt it met only with an amused ‘oh well’ gesture from Pip.

At least her familiar was still personable. 

By the time you arrived at the theater, your nerves were shot; downing some of the scotch kept in the back of the limo you tried to make the best of it. Thanking Hellsing for her expensive liquor habits, you got up and out, trying to not draw attention to the fact that  
You looked too well dressed to be going to a second showing theater  
You arrived in a limo  
You reeked of fear

The blue dress was flattering in ways you wish it wasn’t and as you gave the concierge your ticket to the movie, you could feel him and his power rippling through the minds of the staff. You felt sick from it- he had put them into thrall, and likely would kill them the moment their usefulness ended, which would be soon. Swallowing pride and fear, you made your way down the dimly lit aisle, finding the fifth row and seeing no one else, took a seat in the center. 

One minute bled to five, and the movie was black and white, shades of grey as you remained alone.  
Five minutes to nine- one more and you could flee.

His voice was soft, velvet and comforting while fear laced your veins, your own power not allowing his voice to lull your senses.   
“You look divine my darling.” Your heart pounded in your ears as you froze, eyes fixed to the images on the screen. His presence to your right, you felt him lean close, cold breath making gooseflesh rise on your skin.   
“My lovely, sweet muse.” You turn to look at him the man of mystery.  
“My sweet thrall.” His smile is charming, his face unearthly in it’s beauty. Vampirism was not the cause of the way he made your pulse quicken, or your body to heat. No, that was him, his own natural born self, his powers while strong not pushed against your own. He was letting you see him as he was.  
He was an Adonis- a beauty that not even vampirism could create.

“It is time we became acquainted.” His arm lifted, reaching around to cover your shoulder, fingers brushing over you, teasing. His eyes are a startling vibrant shade of blue, his hair like spun gold in thick waves that frame his face which on any other would make one think him kind and charming.

But in that moment of dawning terror you realize you haven’t just gotten the attention of a powerful vampire. You’ve gotten the attention of a vampire made from demonic pact, from hellish dominion and damnation. It clicks, all the telling signs coming to the front, all the hints and prose now aligned from nonsense to nuance. This vampire was once a man known by his name and it alone would draw equal dread and adoration. A name of equal love and lust. A name as complex and chaotic as the colors on the screen.  
You are his curiosity, his fixation, his latest fascination. 

You are the muse of the infamous Dorian Gray


	6. Empty Net

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for clarifying details.

“Well?” His voice drawls, lingering on the consonant a little longer than needed, his face leaning in closer as his eyes stare you down, equal parts lust, violence, and glee mixed in their gaze. “Nothing to say to me?” His hand lifts, covering where his heart should lay. “I know I am breathtaking, but do try to at least breathe.” He smiles, tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes barely there, as if a facsimile of a normal face, a human smile. “Breathe.” His voice is firm, and too late, your feel the command in his words, swaying your action as air fills your lungs in a particularly deep breath.

A dozen questions fly through your mind, each one begging, screaming for an answer but you know you won’t get them. Dorian likely is toying with you while he can. Which begs a better question, where the hell was Alucard and Seras? Both should have sensed him, and both were supposed to intervein long before your vampire admirer got close.   
“Such messy thoughts my muse.” Contact. His fingers run through a few stray locks of hair, twirling it in his fingers. “I took the time to set up some light… entertainment for your companions.” He kept smiling, and the more he smiled, the more you got the feeling you’d been played. “Don’t look so worried pet, I might be able to fight them both but I also rather like this suit and blood is so hard to get out, don’t even get me started on bullet holes. Really, hunters have no idea how much Armani costs. But I’m getting off topic. Tell me darling.” His voice returns to that harmonious lull, that inflection of slight power as he tries to sway you like he did before.  
Only now you were on the defensive.  
“Tell me, have you liked my gifts?”  
You answer willingly, honestly. There is everything to lose should you misstep, even if he plans to keep you alive to make you a thrall that says nothing for what else he might do in the meantime.   
“They’re confusing. Also a bit too grotesque for my taste.” Blue eyes blink, then he laughs, fangs shinning in the low light of the theater.  
“Perhaps, but I had to convey my intentions with sincerity. It’s been… A long time since I’ve come across someone like you.” He is half crawling out of his seat as he moved over you, so close but not touching. “Basil was like you too. Willful, skittish, powerful with raw untapped powers he feared to use. His gift led to mine, and with you…” Dorian’s gaze is far off, as if he was no longer looking at you but to another vision. “To think, after all these years, after all my searching, all I had to do was look to America. You were hidden so well but then you went and did that.” 

Fear.  
Alucard hinted to knowing. Dorian now does the same. You pray you are wrong, that they speak of something else, that they’re mistaken. You’re a Bridge but not that powerful. You couldn’t manipulate souls. You couldn’t call them back. That was myth. More necromancy than a Medium’s powerhouse. Yet Dorian’s eyes soften.  
“Hush my muse, calm your heart. You secret is safe with me. I might be... well myself, but I have no plans to oust your gift. To make the immortal mortal again, to return the soul lost to us by demonic pact- such a gift is divine. It is a blessing, one which I don’t plan to squander.” His whole body is out of his chair now, and he stands in front of you, tower, looming, his entire being blocking the grey screen and light, casting him in a halo yet also in darker shadow.  
“I hoped I could find another like Basil back then. I paid so much to those bastards in the war all for their research to bear nothing but rotten fruit. But here you are- a legacy unearthed, a child of fate and fortune. Perfect in form and figure.” He licked his lips, which was doing nothing for the whole thinking he wasn’t going to kill you and force himself on you vibe.   
“My darling, my muse, how long have I waited for you, for this meeting. How long have I looked, searching for the one who would give me eternity-“  
“And you should keep searching lying snake.” 

Lazily, Dorian looked up and over you, sighing as he moved away, off of your prone seated form.  
“Really Count, there is no reason we couldn’t share her. Her gifts are plenty, and what am I but a patron of the arts? Her craft is-“  
“For a fallen Lord, you still act like you might own the masses.” The click of a gun’s trigger, the bullet sails by you, the hot hair left behind tickling your skin, moving a few hairs. Perhaps it was a warning shot, but Alucard didn’t manage to hit Dorian, the bullet rather hitting the screen behind, distorting the film and casting new shadows and light across the panel of white.   
“Come now, no need for violence. I’ve not harmed my muse and even I’m not such a fool to take her here and now. She deserves better than this place.”  
“We can agree on that.” Both vampires stand still, and you remain stuck. Dorian might not be looming, but he still stands in front of you, blocking you in. Behind you, you can feel Alucard’s pressure, his energy so close and coiled tight, waiting to move.

“I will free myself from my contract Dracul.” Dorian’s voice is clear and sharp. His eyes no longer that false human soft blue, but the infernal red of a vampire. “I have waited too long to be denied. She was born for this, for me- what we began so long ago will finally come to fruition.”  
“Plans change.”  
A scoff, Dorian sneers, fangs exposed and you try to keep fixed, keep aware of what is happening, what is being said. “You can’t still be upset about her, can you? I gave you Lucy on a silver platter, but you had to go and get greedy. It wasn’t my fault you didn’t take my warning seriously. Mina-”  
Alucard’s voice is no longer the same. This time? This time you feel the rage, the depth of power, the sheer demonic essence that laces his being. 

“Do not speak her name.”  
That time, the bullet doesn’t miss, hitting Dorian hit in the chest, blood spilling out in a blossom of vermillion, flecks landing on you as it stains his once pristine suit. Directly into his heart- Yet the man is unfazed, in fact, he even seemed bored.

“We had a deal Count. Lucy for you, and you help me find Basil’s bastard. I held up my end.” His hand motioned to you. “Now hold up your own.” Silence.

Your brain takes in the implication.  
Among mediums, Basil was infamous. The Bridge of London. A medium so powerful, it was said he could calm any soul, speak to the century long dead, and even banish and ward away spirits so mired into stones that not even holy relics could touch. His greatest acclaim was how he, with the Necromancer Lord Henry, took the soul of Dorian Gray and sealed it in a painting. But that was the novel’s take. The truth was the soul was taken and offered to the devil in exchange to bring back their friend and lover- who did in fact, return, just as a vampire. A vampire who just very clearly implicated that you were a descendant of the man who made him a vampire. An implication that also hinged to a prior pact with Alucard before he had been Alucard.

You had known he was Dracula, but to hear it said, to feel the gravity of that reality was another thing entirely. 

“Oh.” Dorian blinks, looking down at you then at Alucard. His smile is wide, manic.  
“Oh this is too rich. Truly, a melodrama for the ages!” He laughs, and suddenly, your body is moved faster than you realize. Once in the theater chair, now you are quite literally, in Alucard’s arms, sitting on one to be precise. He is balance perfectly on a chair, and Dorian is now standing in front of the ruined movie screen, the black and white film playing across his form, breaking up his image.   
“Muse.” He croons. “I must leave you tonight, but I promise I will return. And to answer your question as to why?” He smiles, and you feel it, the brush of his power inside your head as he answers there rather than out loud.

‘You are my Basil reborn. His heir and legacy. You are also the heir of his murderer, the one who struck the blow that led to his downfall- he would have you for revenge, I for love. You were born for me my muse. Promised by the devil himself. You are mine. My Bridge from this world to the next…and beyond.’

Your mind blanks, and like that Dorian is gone.  
“Williams.” Alucard’s voice is calm, even, strangely void of his usual teasing.

“Time is running out.” He doesn’t set you down, but rather moves you in his arms, cloaking you with his red coat, his shadows. You would not know then, but later you’d understand his words. Dorian had begun his hunt and campaign to have you. Soon, you wouldn’t have a choice of who to serve.  
Shock settles in, adrenaline gone, your body slackens, overwhelmed as darkness spots your vision, slowly falling to sweet unconsciousness. 

Later you’d understand Alucard’s words and why he held you close.   
Soon, you’d have to decide.   
Submit to become his thrall- or be taken for Dorian’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make clear, reader is a bastard descendant of Basil, the one who 'painted the portrait' of Dorian. In this telling, he was a Bridge with powers equal or greater than the reader's own. Reader also has a blood relation to one of the ones responsible for Alucard's capture. (Hint: Back read prior chapters for clues ;D ).
> 
> In terms of timeline:  
Dracula was 'born' long before Dorian.  
Dorian was made a vampire via demonic pact through supposedly, Basil, a Bridge, and Lord Henry, a necromancer. They had been attempting to bring him back to life. Dorian was an established vampire some time before Dracula arrived in London.   
Dorian implies he is the one who initially set up Lucy to become Dracula's bride, and in return, Dracula would aid in Dorian's attempts to keep Basil alive/his thrall. As previously stated, Basil was Dorian's thrall, but has since died or been killed.   
The time between Dracula's capture and WWII is unclear (for now) for Dorian's involvement, but, Dorian was one of the patrons for the Nazi's testing and human experimentation on mediums.   
At some point, Basil's bastard child ending up mixing their bloodline with one of the descendants of the Hellsing hunting party that captured Dracula. This bloodline has culminated in the reader's birth and powers.
> 
> I won't spoil all the interlinking reveals and back lore, but I have left a few hints as to how the 'lore' reader knows interlocks with the lore of Hellsing and the novel of Dorian Gray. I've also sprinkled in some teasers on *how* lore is being presented and effectively changed within the story. A clue: The reader is both you, and the narrator and this is important. ;D
> 
> I hope this story is as fun to read as it is to write- I plan to not make it overly long, but now with a bulk of lore set you can get what you all came here for: the vampire smut. Look forward to it!


	7. Bait

30 days.  
Nearly a month on mandatory ‘bed rest’ per Hellsing’s orders.  
Fuck. That. 

After basically getting creeped on by a nearly 200 year old man with a narcissism streak wider than the Thames was long, you had no desire to rest. No, you wanted to go and run the fuck away. Hide and cut all ties to your past, start fresh. You heard that France was a good place to go- lot of people who wanted to rid themselves of evil spirits and contact the dead. But… France also was a fucking hot bed of vampires. One thing those shitty vampire love novels got right. So maybe not France? You’d always been curious about Italy, and the church might try to kill you but they wouldn’t so long as you didn’t get caught or do any ‘evil’ bullshit-  
“Iscariot would likely kill you or force you to join their ranks.” Alucard said behind you, looming as you jumped in your seat. The manor library was supposed to be peaceful- not a fucking place to get scared shitless! Never mind that though-  
“Can you stop?” You hiss at him, earning a pleased smirk. Ever since Dorian’s direct approach, Alucard had made his passive hobby of annoying you now all but his full time job. Stalking you, teasing you, testing your mental wards- which he just happened to figure out how to slightly breach as of late.  
“So prickly little Bridge.” He slides next to you, looking at the book you have laid out on the table. “If you do run I’d prefer you to live.” He tilts his head at the book, eyes scanning the pages before he comments. 

“South Korea would be your best option.”  
“Why’s that?” This is a common thing you know- he baits, and you catch yourself on the hook.  
“Few vampires went East after the crusades- the Emperor of the east does not take kindly to trespassers. At worst, they’d force you into a cultivation clan- but not a thrall. They have-“ He scowls, a very humanlike thing to see on his normally bemused face, “-rules they follow.”  
You stay on his hook a while. “Why encourage me towards there then? I’d still be controlled.”  
“Iscariot would most likely kill you the moment a vampire compromised you. The Emperor of the east finds the use of thralls… distasteful. They also forbid killing cultivators, as your kind are knowns as.” You hum, thinking on it. 

Alucard, despite being locked up by Hellsing, was a fountain of arcane knowledge. Rituals, powers, acts and events- he was well aware of what his kind did outside of Hellsing, outside of the UK- perks of being one of the few devil born vampires that were absolute immortal you guessed.  
“The Emperor wouldn’t look my way-“  
“Now we both know that’s a lie.” He’s right, painful as that fact is. The Emperor of the East, or known more as the Immortal Emperor was like Alucard, born from infernal contract, a true immortal. Unlike Alucard however, the Emperor was supposedly well over 3000 years old and very much still untouchable by any who dared to try and oppose his ‘divine’ rule. He was also as a known collector of sorts. Humans with ‘extraordinary’ abilities were plucked out of their homes and relocated into ‘cultivation clans’. Half metahuman breeding programs and half sanctuaries. Each ‘clan’ was separated by powers and rank- only the most powerful were close to the Emperor’s Clan, Lóng. Which given your powers, would be where you’d be placed. The Emperor kept the clans as a sort of personal human army that served him and his will- in exchange for freedom from persecution from humans, and thralldom from his own kind. 

Going east had long been a slang among mediums for seeking out the Emperor and petitioning to join one of his clans. It was deeply alluring. No fear of being forced to become a thrall, to be hunted by your fellow man for powers they didn’t understand, and protection from those powers overwhelming you early on. There was also a ban on killing any metahumans, as the clans always needed fresh blood in a literal and genetic sense. But the cost was basically your freedom. The moment you joined a clan, willing or not, the Emperor would dictate your life down to the minute detail. Most women ended up matched with a man and required to have two children. Not always with the same man either. ‘Cultivators’ as metahumans were called, often were to use their powers in less than kind ways… all to ensure the happiness and prosperity of their infernal overlord.

It wasn’t a great thing but hey!  
No Dorian or Alucard trying to fuck you till you went and turned into a living doll.  
“A pet soldier for an immortal ruler, or a toy for an undying lord. I don’t have many options.” His hand runs up your neck, gloves itching your skin and their chill making your flesh prickle.  
“You have a third option.” Cold breath, you feel his energy push at your own, probing. Let me in, it whispers, let me fill you, explore you, know you-

You gasp as you lurch forward, swallowing your breath as he pulls away abruptly. He’d gotten close, too close, and you shook in how easy it had been to become complacent in his presence.  
“Master, Sir Hellsing wants to speak with you.” Seras’s voice echos as if hearing it underwater, and you barely make out Alucard’s lewd reply.

His leaving helps. It makes it easier to breathe as Seras stares at your from the doorway. After a beat, she too walks away.  
But Pip stays. Pip lingers and hovers near you, ghostly hand hovering above your own, afraid of what he knows you have. Of the power that makes it so easy to see him and hear him.  
Spirits like his ground you. Even if he’s bound, he’s still very much singular and independent for now. A strong soul- Seras was lucky to have him and his willing submission.

“I can’t-“ You breathe. In. Out. ‘I can’t let him in.’ Your unfinished words echo in your head. Alucard keeps getting too close to being able to manifest in your mind. It’s time to get answers. Pip lingers, not speaking, as if waiting. You reach, and suddenly, the feeling of old worn leather is in your hands, and you clamp down on Seras’s connection to him.  
“Pip Bernadotte.” Your voice crackles, his entire form is visible, solid in your hold. Any who’d walk by would see him- see the shade he is and the way you hold his coat in a tight grip, your own soul tethering his momentarily. “Of what we speak you hall not repeat. Answer me.” The power radiates, your fears forcing you to do something you haven’t done in years. “How is Alucard breaching my defenses?” 

Pip stares, sputtering at your sudden control over him, over the sheer power you have, so unlike his Seras- then he laughs.  
“Choupinette, he’s doing nothing different as far as I know.” Your hand squeezes, and you see him form flicker before he adds on “Nor does ma Cherie think he is doing anything new. But you’re starting to weaken.” Pip’s good eyes narrows. “You’re scared Choupinette, and he’s the only think keeping you alive- it’s human nature to seek out protection. But..” He smiles, enjoying how annoyed he’s making you. “I would guess the fact you’re attracted to him is not helping your trying to keep him away.”

You thrust Pip away, his body going back to incorporeal, vanishing like smoke. His laugh echoes to you and Seras alone- but your power will keep him from telling her of what you asked and what he said. Perks of being a Bridge that was powerful enough to manipulate a spirit. But now, Seras will know the extent of what a part of your powers can do. And you suspect she will speak to Alucard about it. Hellsing as well.

It was all of two days before Hellsing called you in, demanding answers.  
“Why did you think it was a good idea to not let me know?” She is furious. Raging you think, but not without reason. Finding out the medium you thought could at best, ID ghosts can actually make a spirit physically manifest by touch and temporarily cut off a soul from a vampire’s hold is a bit of a jump in power spectrum.  
“Well, most times I do, I’ve been almost killed or worse so I don’t use my powers that... highly often.” You don’t want to think to back when you had used them. When you had let your powers fully manifest.  
“Any other powers you have? Bringing back the dead?” Her cigar is stamped out, and you roll your eyes.  
“Necromancy. Not my skill set. I could, if I really wanted to, but that means an infernal contract and a blood sacrifice and a heart sacrifice. Both of which I’m not keen to do or try.” Ripping out a heart and eating it was one way to get power but you could barely stomach liver. Vomiting at the feet of Lucifer wouldn’t be ideal for a deal making ritual probably. 

‘It would be amusing however’ Alucard’s voice glides across you mind before you clamp down, feeling him smile at your sudden walls back up. Complacent. You keep falling into complacency with him! 

“So you have other powers but you won’t tell me-“ She leaves the statement open.  
“Because frankly, I don’t like using them.” Explaining it is hard to those who lack the ‘gift’. “The more… powerful mediums like myself are as you know, called Bridges because we are the living embodiment of a bridge between life and death. The bridge between a soul and a living body. Most of us are simply stronger mediums. Able to sense ghosts and the like at a larger range, more precise, and more effective in drawing them out and contacting and understanding them. A few of us… we have exceptional abilities that some have in the past… called divine.”  
That sparks Hellsing’s attention, as you knew it would.  
“Dr. Frankenstein is a good example.”  
“That’s a novel.”  
“Rooted in fact.” You counter. “Mary Shelley was probably what I would call a passive medium. Too weak to really be able to fully manifest any gifts, but latently aware enough to sense and feel the dead. From what is known, someone of a higher tier met Mary and told her of what they could do when she was very young, among us, the rumor is it was her nanny but no one knows for sure. What is known however is Mary cultivated her gift, and eventually, became a mid-tier medium of some significant skill.”  
Hellsing was interested, and you could tell she hadn’t heard this before. Not shocking- much media of the classic world had roots and influences in fact and real events. And most of the occult underground was far more hidden than even secret organizations knew of.  
“She was well connected for her time, and eventually met a very powerful bridge- Byron.” You crack a smile at Hellsing’s eyebrow lifting. “Byron told her of how a bridge could call old souls to manifest physically in the sense we can touch them- she went from this and concocted her novel. And to the reader, most would never pick up the implication- the title character, Dr. Frankenstein, was a bridge who used his power to take a soul and force it back into a corpse he created. Hence, why it was an abomination and so terrifying to her other party-goers. Though for a more visceral reason on Byron’s part I’m sure.”  
“You’re saying that what happened in the novel is possible?”  
Now you have to tread carefully.  
“No- and yes.” You swallow. “A Bridge can call old souls back briefly, we can even command and manipulate them to a slight extent. But forcing them and binding them to a body is… a power that in theory is possible, but no Bridge would attempt it. Calling back a soul and binding it risks binding your own to it. More, you risk losing you own because the soul isn’t.. complete? Ah, how do I explain.” You lean back. “A soul floating in the ‘living’ world isn’t all there, it never is. After all, it lacks a body. It feels nothing but emotions and thoughts. Only a soul from hell, or in theory, one in heaven, is ‘whole’. Able to experience and know more than simple thoughts and feelings and memories. So if one takes a soul and binds it to a body, that soul can’t be from the living world.”  
“It would likely come from heaven or hell.” She finishes for you.  
“Correct. Either way, it’s damnation. Madness. What the soul would lack- it would have to be supplemented from elsewhere, and as a Bridge would be the only living soul bearing being, the Bridge would pay that offset. But as to the novel- that’s why it’s a terrifying concept. A thing that would cost a Bridge their very sanity. It’s a cautionary tale of hubris for my kind. As far as I know, attempts were made to re-create the novel’s experiment, but they ended much the same way I describe. Insanity. Damnation. Death for the Bridge.”  
“This was attempted?” Hellsing interrupted, looking more affronted than anything.

“What did you think the Millennium Organization did? Just make vampires?” You glare and she has the grace to not gawk. A while passes in silence, and you feel a weight in your gut. Binding souls, calling them back, making the dead have what they lacked while having a form…  
Your mistake and why you fled your native land.

“How do you know about the Millennium Organization?” Her voice is deceptively smooth, but you can sense it. Unease. Fear.  
“Mediums and Bridges both were recruited on both sides of the war. Few survived. Those that did, pass down their knowledge of what they saw, what they endured.” You remembered Larry. Larry, who you saw weep as his past haunted him more than any ghost could. Larry, who warned you of what to fear.

“Baron Samedi is coming for you girl!” He’d said the night before it all went to shit. “He’s coming, and when he does, pray! Pray that the favor of your daddy an’t weak! Legba wants us strong child. He wants you strong. Strong so when you face down Samedi, he can’t touch you.” Larry had been lost that night too. His mind slowly slipping away under the hands of hungry spirits. He’d smiled at you though, smiled like he was in on some great secret.  
“He gonna have to fight for you, but you girl!” His laugh was madness as he died. “You gonna make him yours. They an’t gonna know what hit em!”  
Larry had been good, kind to you.  
He’d taught you a lot, despite being crazy in the end. 

Back to the present. Back to Hellsing finally finding out what part of her killing the head of the Millennium Organization had meant.  
“Hellsing, most mediums and Bridges meet by accident. We use ways to seek each other out, make sure we’re safe. We don’t, can’t trust anyone freely. Most die by the time they’re 13. Another fraction die by the time they’re 20. Few make it to 30. Fewer still to old age.” Larry had been 87.  
“The older, the more powerful, because insanity and madness usually take us. It’s already begun with me.” Perhaps that was why Alucard was able to break past now. Why he could slip in.  
“I’m powerful. Likely, one of, if not the most powerful of my generation. To my knowledge, there is no one who has the strength I have.” That was true. “But that might not be accurate. My kind purposely do not keep connected. We can’t. Anytime we do, we’re found and killed en mass. Wars often are used to cover it up. Crimes of accidents and commonality to hide us being abducted and used. So we never kep in touch. We never ask for real names. We stay distant, we stay alone.”

You look at Hellsing, wondering how she’ll use you now, knowing that a powerful weapon has been hiding in her hand this whole time.  
“I want to live Hellsing.” You wish you could relax. Give into Alucard. Let yourself just accept his control, his offer.

You don’t notice how tears run down your face. How you hands shake, clasping one another as you speak.  
“The older I get the more powerful I become.” You don’t hear the fear in your voice. “I can’t control it entirely. And slowly, it’s eating away at me. Making me see- hear more than I should. Feel more. I feel the dead lingering. I hear their dying screams echoing. I smell their blood and bile and can’t ever escape it. I don’t like using my powers.” You whisper.

“I never wanted this curse.”

Hellsing asked no more questions.  
She didn’t send you on another mission.

The only change was that night Alucard showed up at your door, asking without words to offer what no one else could.  
His presence filled your mind, hands cradling your face, your body curled against his own in your bed. His power drowning out the dead. The screams of the dying Hellsing soldiers and hired mercenaries who’s bodies once laid in the halls of the manor. Alucard wrapped his mind around your own.

For the first time in years, you fell asleep.  
You fell asleep, and did not dream of the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have only wikipedia knowledge of voodoo so my apologies if ive botched anything.


	8. New Location

You glare at the ghouls who shamble around you, headed towards their vampiric creator. She was screaming at you, demanding to know how come her ghouls were not obeying her commands. It was her own fault- aside from being a newly made vampire and also being from a line so distant from it’s source she’d always be a weakling on the vampiric food chain, this many ghouls spread her powers too thin- a perfect opening for you to leech in and twist the commands, whisper to the lingering shades inside the rotting bodies to turn on the one who stole their lives from them.

It didn’t matter anymore how often you used your powers. After the night you slept in Alucard’s arms, it had become startlingly apparent. 

You were dying.

Your nightmares and inability to block him out spoke of a deeper issue, the instability of your own control. Not to mention, when you reached out to the lingering spirits of the manor, most rushed to your side, hungry for the energy you could give them, to allow them to manifest- to help them pass over and cease their wandering on the mortal plane.   
“How long do you think I have?” You asked him when you woke, not wanting to admit weakness, not wanting to say how afraid you were. You knew death, you were intimately acquainted. But to die- to simply cease and to vanish into a place you knew was reachable and that you could be dragged back…   
“…” He didn’t answer at first, but he held you close, soaking up your body heat.  
“Please.” Fingers dug into his dress shirt. “Just tell me.”  
“A year.” He said letting you go, unwinding himself from you. “Maybe two if you’re lucky. Your powers are reaching their zenith- It’s only a matter of time before they consume more than just your control.” Red eyes looked down, not in pity but in a passive curiosity. “Why? Considering your options?” The smallest smile peeked then- even as you feared death, he would covet you.  
“…Yes.” There was no point hiding the truth. “Madness. Death. Thralldom. Vampirism- I certainly have options.” You recalled what you had said the night prior. It was your curse, and like any curse you wished you could remove it.  
“But I cheated death once.” You ran from it. Ran across an ocean and cast away everything you knew for the chance to be free of the past. “Maybe I can do it again.”  
Alucard hummed. “That is the greatest mystery with you Bridge.” A gloved finger dipped under your chin making you face him. “No matter how weak your walls go, I still can’t find what caused you to run.”   
You sighed, looking across the room into a mirror. Your reflection stood out, his did not. “And you never will Alucard. That secret is mine, and it will die with me.” Die just like those thralls, just like the vampires that had tried-

You sent the ghouls at the vampire, ignoring the crunch of bones and her scream and her own creations ripped her apart.

“So violent Bridge. So reckless.” His hands ran through your hair. His body at your back, though it held no heat, you could feel him there, wanting, lusting- “The shows you put on as of late- truly excite me.” You didn’t need to think about his desire. How his cock was hard, the curve and slope of it pressed to his pants and promising pleasure if only you’d submit.   
“It satisfies the mission requirements.” And it helped. Your powers were only getting stronger, showing no signs of stopping- and you could feel your grasps on reality slipping away. Images of Larry sitting beside you warning you of specters and old gods came daily now. You didn’t know if his spirit lingered or had been subconsciously called by you- or if it was the first steps of insanity. 

You wished you could say it didn’t effect you, but it did. The shades you could place, the faces who had names and stories- your powers were reaching an apex, and the curse of being a medium was proving true. The older you got, the more powerful, the more you used your powers, the more they could grow. Born strong, born gifted, your body and mind had a timer, an expiration date. And that date was coming closer and closer, as were the threats.

Dorian had taken to turning anyone who he could manipulate, sending them to kill and feed on occultists, each one of his children telling you how it was his way of helping, of showing he would look after you. Each child offered to take you to him.  
Each one was ripped apart by Alucard who sneered at them and would remind you that as it stood, Alucard wanted to claim you first, and he planned to the moment he could. It didn’t matter- what did was that Dorian’s misplaced ‘gifts’ given by hungry newly made vampires were causing unneeded deaths, some unrelated to the arcane underground. 

And thinking on it-  
“We are supposed to meet the liaison soon.” You spoke into the headset, knowing Alucard would hear you without- but Seras and the human soldiers would need the reminder. “They said to meet them at the drop point, but with the attack so close, they might have fled, or, killed before our arrival.” Another medium, known to you as ‘The Doctor.’ Supposedly, they’d worked with Hellsing before under a different name, same with you. But they were an information broker only. Nothing else. When you met them before, they had used a homeless woman to delivery the envelop of forged identity documents. It seemed a long time ago that you’d come to England…

“With this child dead, I’m going over.” Hellsing’s men didn’t counter you, and Seras just gave an ‘affirmative, we’ve got this covered.’ It would be a quick car ride across the small city, and Alucard would move through the shadows after you. At a respectable distance of course. As expected, the drive was quick, and the late night café was almost American in how it smelled of grease and stale beer in the pub area where you’d agreed to meet. 

Still, no one was there when you arrived, and you vaguely reached out, trying to make sure Alucard was far enough that his presence wouldn’t be felt by another medium-  
“I admit, I was expecting someone else. You’re far too young to be so…” A man, lanky, he wore a tracksuit, hiding the fact he looked more skin and bones than anything. A thin face, wire rim glasses, his grey hair was tied back, looking like he’d not seen a haircut in ages or done it himself with some cheap scissors.   
“Who were you expecting?” The man shrugged, sitting across from you, hand palm up on the table.  
“Not you.” It was common enough- mediums would touch, gauge each other’s power, make sure nothing was leeching off of them. The moment your hand was in his, you felt it. Or rather, you felt him.

Yanking back your hand, you stared at the man, who’s smile was melancholic. “Ah, you sensed him then. Few do.” He leaned back, relaxed. “No need to worry. I have none of my medicine with me- and his soul is firmly locked away these days.”  
“So.” You don’t know where to begin. “Why choosing the alias of Doctor now?”  
“It’s what I was, and what I am.” The man in front of you made you afraid, and you could feel Alucard probing at your senses.

You let him in.

_ “Ah, so the good doctor has come out of the woodwork to help.”_ Alucard purred, and in your mind’s eyes, you saw something, a flicker of the same man in another outfit, another time. _”Do tell him that I’m quite looking forward to our next fight._”.  
You vaguely knew of this man, this Henry Jekyll. He was from the same era as Alucard and Dorian, but different. He’d been a medium, and had been the first to ever really push the limits of what one might do- his work had been later discovered and picked up by the one who’d helped Dorian become immortal. Henry Wotton had a knack for finding the best of the occult underground back then as it were. Just so, how did he fit into all this mess that was happening.  
“The count wants me to tell you he looks forward to another fight.” The man smiled and gave a soft chuckle.   
“I’m afraid my better half is currently at rest and won’t be coming out anytime soon. But-“ He pulled a small thumb drive from his pocket. “I came as I said I would. In the drive you’ll find what I’ve managed to gather on our friend the good Mr. Gray. I suspect however, you have questions Miss Morris.”   
“It’s Williams.”  
“Not to me, and certainly not to our mutual friend who…” He blinked. “Who listens in and lingers. And no- I’m not as strong as you, but I am good at reading people. He’s likely nattering in your ear. I don’t mind but do pay attention to what’s being spoken hm?” There is a danger there in his face, his words. He’s immortal, and a medium… but not a thrall. No, Henry Jekyll was his own breed, a product of an experiment with a soul from hell and bonding it without a body. It was rumored he’d wanted to gain a way to avoid his madness, as had brought up a soul from hell and bound it to his flesh- in exchange he couldn’t go mad.  
How he was immortal however was anyone’s guess.   
“Morris. Your ancestor was the sister of one Quincy Morris, who shot Draucla with the silver bullet that would ultimately spell his doom. Said sister who came to London for her brother’s body, and met a man, Jacob Augustine, whom she had a brief affair with. Upon going home to her own fiancé, the child was brought up as her husband’s, and two bloodlines tainted by otherworldly powers went unnoticed as they merged, setting into motion the rise of the most powerful medium of her time.”   
You blinked.  
“How-“  
“Blood dear girl. Like a vampire, I am keen to blood, but my knowledge of the arcane and of medical, I can find what others can’t. Plus, I was the one who was dear Jacob’s teacher. He was a good man, even if he hadn’t a penny to his name. I’m quite certain the only reason he ended up seducing you ancestor was because he looked decent enough, even if his abilities were dim at best. I expected better from Basil’s bastard, but what can one do?” ____

_ _ _ _This man knew your blood line and… it shouldn’t make sense. It shouldn’t line up. You couldn’t be related to Quincy Morris. You’d never heard of- and you might not have records, but surely it couldn’t be. Alucard would have noticed.  
Unless he knew and didn’t tell you. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _There was a thrum of satisfaction from him, phantom hands resting on your neck.   
_”I knew.”_ You try to focus on Jekyll. On his face, on anything but Alucard’s voice. “_And I fully plan to take you- claim the child of the man who’d have killed me if he could.”_ Just like he planned with- Bile hit the back of your throat as Jekyll’s hand reached out, his power feeding your own, driving Alucard out.   
“You really had no idea.” It was a statement.   
“No. No I didn’t.” That’s why Hellsing didn’t kill you. Why she kept you close, powers aside, why Alucard had more than basic interest in you. You were the descendant of a vampire hunter. A vampire hunter and a medium. With the right training, you could become a powerful weapon against the undead.  
Too bad you were dying.  
“Pity.” Is all Jekyll said before he slid the thumb drive at you. “I came myself today for a reason. When you arrived in London I knew then who and what you were. You told me why you fled… and it’s clear to me why Dorian has begun to move, and why now, you have become the most desired woman in all of London and the arcane world.” That-  
“How many know?”  
“Of what you did or can do? Myself, you obviously, and whoever you’ve told or left alive in America. But the fact you are powerful, and your bloodline is already being spoken of. The Emperor has made inquiries, as have the Queens and Kings of the South. Even the Jungle Lord of South America is putting out feelers.” This couldn’t be happening. “Your days of being unknown are over Miss Morris. Even if people do not know just what you are, and what you can do, your blood speaks for itself. I came to give a warning, one medium, one bridge to another.” One of his eyes shifts, and you see someone else there, inside him.___ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Do not follow my mistake in thinking you can cheat death. In thinking you can escape unscathed. Dorian is ruthless, and he’s growing impatient as he waits. Soon, flattery will turn to fire, and his gentle touch to a painful grasp.” Jekyll sucked in a breath, looking behind you. “Listen to me, girl. You have a gift, a gift that once myself and others would have feared- but it is your weapon, your power. There is a reason Dracul is wanting you willing, as is Dorian. If they force you, it will mean the power they crave most will be out of their reach.”  
At first it didn’t make sense then-  
“They want their souls back.” To be free of the devil’s hold, to be whole, to be immune to holy fire and holy purification. To corrupt freely, and never feel the call of hunger again. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Jekyll nodded. “The bridge between this life and the next, the only one who could bring back the thing the gave up for power.”  
“They made deals- I can’t… I can’t break a contract.”  
“You can.” He knows, you realized. He knew how. “I had to give up half myself to break free but you have something both men can offer in exchange-“ Eyes drift down, towards your legs.  
“Innocence, purity, and a clean soul- to offer that for a soul would be an equal trade.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _You pale as the truth settles in you. Jekyll left without another word, vanishing like he’d come. You don’t know how long you sat there in the café pub, how long until cold gloves came, gently holding your neck like a lover might.  
“Now you know my little bridge.” His mouth was hot on your skin.   
“Now you know, what it will cost to live.”_ _ _ _ _ _


	9. Wild Snare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A billion years later and IM BACK BABEY!!! On my birthday no less so have some hornee vampire

His mouth was unnaturally hot against your neck. Tongue laved over your pulse as lips suckled on skin. Teeth were carefully tucked behind his lips as he strove to unravel you with the attentions on your neck, marking you like a lover. Fingers played with your chest, reaching, groping over soft flesh. His hands kneaded your breasts, making your back arch to the touch, gasping when he would pinch and pull at tender nipples. You felt his legs between your thighs, seating on his own, straddling him, your wetness seeping into coarse fabric as your hips rocked, desperate for friction. 

You moaned as he kissed your neck, the faintest press of fangs over your veins.   
“My bridge.” His whispered into your ear, drawing his hand up, cupping your chin to tilt your head to the left, exposing the place that offered him your life. “My dear medium.”  
Your breathing sped up, your cunt pulsed, clenching on nothing as he whispered to your skin.  
“My thrall.” 

You woke to the feeling of fangs breaking skin. 

He was present in the room, as he often was now. What had once been a loathing and a hate now was a dark necessity. The nightmares were bad now. They never let you rest, and no medication could alleviate the severity of darkness that plagued your mind. Alucard’s offer to watch over your rest was not one of selflessness. It was very obviously a means he would use to get close to you, but you had little choice.

Madness was creeping up on you like a shadow. 

So that was how you woke. Trembling, sweat cold on your back as it cooled in the air, gasping for breath as your eyes remained blown wide, pupils fixed at nothing while his presence washed over you, enveloping your senses, preventing you from accidentally reaching out to the lingering dead. All with the vampire who was perhaps the most dangerous being in the world leaning against the wall, red eyes peering down at you, neither amused nor annoyed. Unreadable, he just stared.

Alucard was not known for his patience, but all vampires had a good grasp over it. After all, when you were immortal you could afford to wait. In this case, he was there, waiting and watching. Because no matter how you fought against it, your fate was coming. 

Tonight was just a reminder how close it was. 

“You’re flush.” His voice broke the silence and you cursed the fact you didn’t block it. His natural charism seeping in, making him more alluring that he should have been. “What do you dream of I wonder?” His smile was cruel, knowing full well what you dreamed- he was a part of them often. Not always sexual, but always there. Always ready with his offer. The nightmares of sex and his conquest were far better than those of the dead.

You didn’t answer him, only move to stand and go to the washroom, mind wishing that your madness could have been slower, that you were not breaking so quickly.

The rest of the night was sleepless- and when you tried Alucard purred, your powers brushing his own in a moment of weakness. It was inevitable you knew. Your powers would seek what it knew and what it sought. He was dead, his soul trapped yet bound to him in a way unlike any other. He was a wellspring of power and your own fed off of his as he fed off of your own in kind. 

Days would pass and nothing would get better, not anymore.

“You’re starting to break Choupinette.” Pip isn’t… friendly really. He recalls the way you cut him off from Seras, the way you temporarily severed his bond and tie to her- and how even now, he can’t tell her what you did or what you asked. The secret of how strong your powers are remain just that, secret. So his hesitance to linger around you now comes as no surprise. Today is no different- putting on gear to head out to a call about possible ghouls infesting an old warehouse along with some young upstart fledglings courtesy of Dorian- Pip lingers but not close enough to give you the chance to cut him off again.

Yet his eyes are marked with pity- a resigned sadness- the same look you see him give to some of the recruits who think that vampire hunting is easy, that killing the already dead isn’t perhaps the hardest thing one might do. Ignorance leads only to pain and death. 

“I know.” It’s the only answer for Pip, because it’s the truth. It’s painful, it’s raw, and later as you draw on your power to sever the vampire’s control over the ghouls you wonder if it’s worth keeping a secret, if it’s worth trying to stave off a madness that will come for you- or if you should embrace it.  
Embrace the madness and turn it into a weapon.

It’s not the first time the thought of giving into your powers has come. It’s a thought born of helplessness, of a desperation. It’s the same thoughts that helped you escape your would be killer, the same thoughts that kept you alive, the same thoughts that broke the thralls who cried out for their own deaths as they held you down in preparation for what would have come.

Power was constant temptation, and as you watched, impassive as a horde of ghouls under your command ripped a vampire limb from limb you thought back to what Larry had said. Mediums and Bridges weren’t clairvoyant- that was another branch of the metaphysical. But it wasn’t unheard of the dead to offer insight to the living. Larry had been a devout catholic, but towards the end he’d gone back to his roots, to the old gods, the relic gods of a people torn apart then placed as one. 

God was not something you thought of, nor were other gods and deities. But there was a power in faith- and you’d be a fool to think some gods didn’t exist in some capacity. Legends existed for a reason, as did stories and fables. Larry had given a warning, almost prophetic, and as another vampire screamed in rage as his legs were bitten away you leaned against the lamppost at the field’s edge, mind churning. 

Legba, Baron Samedi- One who was your progenitor another who was your doom. If… If you put the figures into the context of your situation, Alucard would be the Baron. Legba… who could say. Basil perhaps? If that was the case Basil was shit for a patron and ancestor. But to be hunted and turn the hunter into prey? That... was within your powers.

Another vampire grabbed by your ghouls you looked out to the field were the carnage was taking place. Hellsing officers had been standing down, knowing better than to engage until the vampires were dead and all that was left were ghouls waiting their slaughter.

“Stop.” Your voice commands them, and the mob of undead hold down their creator, a leg in shreds and weeping black blood. Grass brushing your boots, wetting them with dew and mud caking the soles. The crunch of dried leaves under your feet as you approach the fledgling, wondering.

To turn your madness to a weapon, to make the hunter become the hunted.  
To make your would be master your slave…

“Pity.” The vampire was young, so young. Maybe 17 in life. In death their childlike face would be modestly attractive, but far too youthful to be effective for most unless they lacked morals. Pity, you think, that Dorian would turn such young mortals who had no hope of gaining power or surviving with their immortality. It was a pity- he should have at least have given them a chance.

‘Pity they could not become worthy of being called a threat.’ Alucard’s voice caresses your mind, and while you keep him out… this time, you let him talk freely.  
“True.” You speak out loud, not bothering wasting your power to establish a mental tether for the communication. “I… almost wish they were worth using my powers on.” It’s sad in a way. They never stood a chance. If by Hellsing’s men or your powers- to be destined to weakness. To have their half lives and very existence end.  
‘It is no fun when there is no worthy prey. I admit, this is a new side to you my dear bridge.’  
“It’s not new.” You reach out with your powers, testing. The vampire writhes as you force him to think of his cruelty, on his loss of humanity, on everything he’s given up in becoming undead. “I’m just not hiding it anymore.”

The vampire screams as his own mind begins to shatter, his lingering humanity warring with his vampiric nature. As he screams you twist it- make him feel his own death over and over again. This time there is no euphoric vampiric cover, the pain and agony of death is raw and real as he relives his death in his own mind.   
Like a taught line of string, it snaps, and the vampire’s will blanks-

“Destroy yourself.” A whisper, a command. The vampire throws its head back-

And then into the rocky earth. Over and over again, his head smashes into the ground as blood and gore splatter around him, the ghouls awaiting your command. Soon the cracking and shattering of bone is heard and grey matter begins to fleck the damp soil, darkening the earth further. Soon the vampire stops moving his head, but you know it’s not over- his brain is still mostly intact, his neck has just snapped from the force.  
“Not good enough.” A thought, you press it against the vampire, against their mind already threatening to break. The ghouls need no verbal command and let the vampire’s arms go.  
He stands.

The next thing all witness is the vampire ripping off his own head as he screams for mercy.

Silence on the headsets, you can feel the terror in the air, feel the fear and awe. Inhuman, monster- your powers seep off of you like a wave and Alucard licks at it’s edges. His lust, his awe and desire coat your tongue and cloud around you begging for notice for attention; he demands it, he needs it, need you. His hunger oozes over the area and you can feel Seras cowering from afar. Her master’s lust and hunger, your power and apathy. Two powers ready to clash, nipping at each other’s feet, ready to strike, waiting for opportunity.

You pull back, you have the ghouls form a line as route.  
“Mission accomplished.” You speak into the headset, walking back towards the van that will take you to the manor, the one that has tinted windows so no one can see inside. Padded walls and doors to defend from bullets, to mask sound.  
“I leave the rest to you and yours Seras.” You march back to the van, head held high, ignoring the vampire who walks after you in your footsteps, the swirl of back and red at the edge of your senses.   
To her credit, neither Seras nor her men remark on the drastic change of your actions; none voice concern by how direct you handled things. No doubt they will in private, but as is, this is still the battlefield, and you are still the weapon they cannot control, cannot know, and cannot predict. 

Gunshots ring out as Seras and her men dispose of the ghouls, as you feel their beings flicking out of existence, as your connections severs. In the silence of the van you lean into the plush seating, staring up at padded metal rooftop and wonder.

It had been so easy to go into the vampire’s mind. So easy to make them relive their own death. To rip away the mask of bliss and leave them only pain. To command them, to make them yield. It had been as easy as drinking water- no, even easier. Like breathing.

His body stands in front of you and you ignore it. He’s bent low, the van too small of him in so many ways. But you’re small. Human. Breakable- he isn’t. He’s unyielding, a wall old and firm in his foundation in his power and being. The vampire tonight had been like a blade of grass blown over by the wind.

How could you expect to make a wall so ancient yield? How could you bend the will and power of a man who had cheated death and devil himself?

“Alucard.” Looking up, you see in red eyes a dark knowing. A dark, unfathomable hunger that begs you, pleads for you- your power, your blood, your sex.   
“Ah-lu-card.” You accent each syllable. Your hand reaches up and he takes it. Gloves rub on your skin, the soft worn leather soothing over your pulse- stead and calm you know it shouldn’t be. Your thoughts are half mad, half sick. Normally you’d never have entertained thoughts on using your powers like this, never contemplated even trying. But madness, death, demands your mind.   
“Ah.” He closes his eyes, leans down to lick over the veins, his teeth white and stark against the red of his lips and gums.  
“Lu.” He sighs as his lips kiss your open palm, and tongue licks the pads of your fingers. Wet and not warm, so strange yet oddly not unwelcome.  
“Card.” Red eyes so mired in desire, raw and wanting. The hunger is for sex, for blood, and for a twisted love and adoration that come only with the madness of the damned.

“Kiss me.” There is no power in your words as he leans over you, bracing himself against the seat, his knee between your legs, rubbing over your core which pulses hotly in reply at the contact. There is no command in those words as his lips brush over your own, as if he might ask for permission. No trying to control him as he licks the seam of your mouth, tongue probing, invading, conquering your mouth and tasting you for the first time.

There is not a drop of power held over him as he kisses you, smiling as you kiss him back and taste the copper tang of your own blood, tongue lightly pierced by his fangs. 

Your moan is deep as you push your hand into black curled hair, admiring the soft texture, the sharp contrast of it to his face and his demeanor. His own hand cups your face like a lover, gentle, coaxing, trying to get you to lower your defenses, let him in, let him have more. More of this, more of you, more of your weakness, your need, your blood- and you give it, pulling him closer, rubbing your clothed center against his leg, mewling when his other hand hikes up your leg, hoisting it over his waist and allowing him closer, allowing his cold body to drink in your heat. You give him a taste, the dream forbidden for you both. He won’t claim you, take you here. The act he wishes to preform is not sacred but profane- even so it is intimate. It is consummation not unlike a wedding night, and Alucard is a selfish, covetous man. He’d not allow another to glimpse you at your weakest, at a moment where you would be bare to the world as life and virtue leave your body. 

No, he’d take you to his domain, to his coffin, place you there and make you dream of your death as he would prepare himself for making you his thrall, the first in over a century. 

Alucard was a vampire mired in power, who’s very existence was an affront to God and a truth of the Devil given flesh. He had the power to kill thousands, had killed thousands, and would kill thousands more. He was an Undying King. Immortal beyond Immortals. In another time, he’d have been called a Dark God. His face and handsome beauty making not unlike a fallen angel, yet just like one he would pull you down with him, condemning you in the same breath he would worship you.

Red eyes bore into your own and you feel him prying, searching, hunting for a way in- you let him feel your conflict. The want to give in, the helplessness, the desperation to escape death and avoid the madness that edges in so close. You let him feel all of it and let his mid wrap around your own as he lifts you from the seat, pulling you up and into his arms so he might sit, you straddling him, letting him fondle you, molest your flesh and think of ways to make you come apart behind closed doors.

“Little bridge.” His mouth finds your neck, teasing press of fangs firm on skin, a threat and a promise that spikes fear into you alongside excitement.   
“My dear Bridge.” Danger and pleasure- a heady mix that fuels you, that shows you a truth you had known yet never confronted. That confirms your thoughts, you guess. “My darling thrall to be.”

As Alucard kisses you, smiling against your skin, whispering lascivious promises into your ear you mewl and writhe in his lap, letting go of your control, letting your body act without thought. 

But in your mind?  
In your mind, behind the walls, behind the shields, you swell in victory. Alucard was not a fool, and he was not weak.  
But he was prideful. Cocky. Arrogant. He would allow himself to be used until it suited him not, and then he’d turn and strike. This was his relationship with Hellsing after all. He may begrudgingly admire Sir Hellsing, but he would not allow her to escape his wrath should he be free. But in his own eyes you were not a threat, not a dagger aimed at his back. He knew you’d want his aid to kill Dorian and he’d give it, if just to remove any risk of losing you. Of competition. 

Your hands roam in black hair, grasping strands as you arch you body into him, baring your neck to tempt him.

He bends, kisses your throat, your pulse.

In the end, Alucard is a man. He is a vampire.

Your powers brush alongside his and you purr as you feel something click into place, as you feel your power seep into his own, a tiny seed that will do nothing until you command otherwise. Your blood has been consumed- a few paltry drops is enough. A pact, a bond- blood of an unwitting covenant. He wants your powers, and so we will have it… but only if you will have his own. The blood is enough.

Enough to let you in.  
Enough that the vampire who grins as he holds you in his lap, thinking he has begun to win does not know what you have chosen.

To live.  
To fight.  
To make the would be master bend at the knee to you.

Alucard grins with madness in his eyes.

You smile. 

A final kiss before the men return, mission over, silence in the air as they do not comment on your flush skin, the swollen lips, the marks on your neck. Alucard has returned to the shadows but you remain in the light of the van as it fills, as it takes you back to the Hellsing estate. 

Alucard in the end was a man who thought he could have what he wanted without consequence, without question. He would try to break you, use your madness against you.

But if you were to gain power, to go mad- you’d use him in every sense of the word.   
You wouldn’t be his thrall.

You’d be his master.


	10. Raw Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only took this long to get to the max horny

“Ah-lu-card~” You coaxed his name as a song, head thrown back as you bit back moans. After giving up hiding the extent of your powers that night, your blood had been thrumming- singing as you felt Alucard lurk in your shadow, as his power lapped at your own, begging for another clash, another taste of the two of you warring for dominance. It was equally terrifying and thrilling- to know how hungry he was not just for blood and sex but for your power, your very being. There was a primal satisfaction in knowing the man, the beast, that could fell the world wanted you and couldn’t have you until you allowed it.

That feeling, that thrill chased you as you arrived at the Hellsing estate, as you saw him from the corner of you eyes, his own red ones seeking you out, focused, wanting to chase you down and take but being unable to, forced to report to Sir Hellsing and yearn for the second he could be free of command long enough to follow you where once he could not.

His power licking at your feet all through the report, all while Sir Hellsing asked what had happened, why you’d gone so far and how you’d managed to manipulate a vampire- it was easy to lie, as you could have purred with the smug pleasure rolling off Alucard as you did so. Hiding the truth, omitting the finer details to protect yourself was not new, but to openly do so when he knew better, to manipulate Sir Hellsing’s ignorance in your favor gained only Alucard’s pleasure at the spiteful act. Such a simple man in the end, to find pleasure in such pettiness. 

Such a simple man, who after you made your report, followed up brazenly back to your room where he stared you down as you undressed, as if daring you to tell him to leave knowing he wouldn’t.

It was fun, taking off the gear, peeling away layer after layer and making him salivate and seethe, unable to touch you while you ignored him. How fun it was to smile coyly as you went fully nude, masking your embarrassment, your fear and shame at your own nudity to walk into your bathroom just to have him follow you there too.  
How delightful to shower, his gaze burning behind translucent curtain, waiting as you washed away the sweat and scent of fear to replace it with another- your trepidation, apprehension, your own growing morbid curiosity to where this would lead, where it would end up and who would devour who first.   
You took your time under the hot spray, pushing away the feeling of his eyes on your skin, ignoring his overpowering presence, and bathed in a matter that was so lacking in sexuality it was almost funny. Almost, because you knew that by being normal, mundane, it only would raise his lack of control his want for more. 

Freshly bathed you dried your hair, pointedly ignoring his smile, the way he wordlessly lifted the hairbrush and hairdryer to attend to you himself. So greedy you mused, to take things from your hands and act kindly just to indulge in the barest of touch. But you allowed it, his gloved fingers running through strands and lightly tugging in a way that made your body pulse in reply. Would he pull? Would he tangle it in his hand? Or would he leave your hair alone in his passions, content to pinning you by your neck of with his body? Such devious thoughts did not help your own growing excitement.

Excitement that culminated in sitting on your bed, robe open and Alucard standing in front of you, fully dressed, his eyes glittering with demonic lust and the promise of dark passion. His hands at his side, not even the faintest flicker of his fraying control- but you could feel it, his powers licking, snapping at threads of your own, the seed of your blood and power inside him working subtly to wear down his will, to whittle away at his control just enough to give you an edge.

Legs spread open you looked up at him, wanting to see what he’d do.

The thud of knees on carpet, the firm grasp of his hands as he lifted you legs up and over his shoulders- the wet swipe of his tongue on your inner thigh cold and yet mockingly lifelike.   
“Behave.” It was the first thing you said to him since getting back and to your command lacking in power he smirked, kissing your thigh once more before diving to his goal.

The wet sounds of his mouth on your cunt were sin, and you cried out at his assault. Fingers wove into his hair and pulled as he had his way with you, as tongue lapped and licked around and inside- as he would pull back to suck on your clit, teeth rubbing on occasion, a threat and a promise and a dark dark desire to find out how it would feel but knowing it would be too much.

“Ah- Ah-“ Your moan was loud as he covered your pussy with his mouth swallowing against you and making you feel the suction on not just your sensitive clit but your labia as well. “Ah- Alu-“ You whimper unwittingly as he pulled back just to lick you clit teasingly.  
“AluCARD!” You screamed in pleasure and pain as he used his teeth to gently tug on the swollen clit, your pussy fluttering, clenching down on nothing, begging for more as your body hovered on the edge of orgasm.   
“Fuck-“   
“Such a filthy mouth.” He pulled away, lips and chin covered in a thin glistening sheen of your sexual fluids. “But if my dear thrall desires…”  
“No-“ Your denial was breathy as your mind held firm even as you rode the thrumming pleasure he gave, “Fingers.” You managed to gasp out.”  
“Fuck me with your fingers. Just- Ah!” Devil that he was, Alucard didn’t hesitate, a digit slipping in, leather rubbing your walls in a way that skin did not. It wasn’t painful, but it was new, and despite the texture, the supple leather yielded easily against you, slick juices easing the penetration and his renewed attentions.   
“If I had know you were so keen to pleasure,” Another finger, they crooked, sending stars bursting behind your eyelids as your orgasm came with a silent scream, “I would have been more forward.”   
You loved this- the debauchery, the thrum of his power and your own mixing, mingling. You loved the feeling of being both dominated yet also still in control. The sheer heady mix of his power yielding to your will and the sexual domination he would give was almost too much, and as you hips rose off the bed, rocking onto his hand, begging for more, you knew this was not just a battle- this was a fight for you. Your life, your sanity- and it would be waged through sex and power.

“My dear bridge.” He purred in that vampiric voice of his, coaxing your complacency as a third finger slipped in, stretching you in a way only fingers could. Part of you wondered if he’d let you suck your own cream off of the gloves after or he’d do it himself. Another part wondered if he could coax you into sexual relaxation so much his whole hand might slip in, so he might fuck you and break you before his cock had even been inside you.

The wet squelch of his hand and fingers filled the room alongside your panting and cries of pleasure. Occasionally he bent down, taking your clit into his mouth to suck, drawing out a scream and more of your pussy juices, allowing his fingers to fuck you harder, faste, the leather of his gloves inhuman yet so deliciously good against your heated walls. 

Laying back you whimpered his name, no longer able to keep track of just how many times he’d caused you to orgasm, cause you to scream his name. But not once had you begged, not once had you completely lost control. The tether of your powers grounding you, even as he made you come undone by his mouth and hands.

“Alucard-“ You softly moaned, eyes half lidded as he finished his assult, hand pulled free of your cunt with a wet sound, followed but the lewd secking of fluid from leather- it seemed he wanted to savor the taste of you tonight- no matter, you had only the thought to taste yourself in the moment anyway.  
“Alucard-“ You voice took on a petulant whine and he moved, looming over you, lips and chin still coated in slick.  
“Yes?” His eyes glittering red with male satisfaction, you looked down the expanse of his body, noting how the outline of his cock was very firmly pressed against the black slacks he wore.   
“Kiss me.”

Gentle, soft, tender- it was not a real kiss from him, not like the one in the van. This was a gift, a placation, a false platitude aimed to soften your resolve. But you had made your choice, you had chosen to fight and if this was the path to victory, to life, so be it.

“I want.” It was laced with your power as you grasped his coat, as you pulled yourself up using his body for leverage.  
“I want what is mine.” Power hummed in your skin, in your touch as he laughed, grabbing you rolling and moving you both so you sat astride him, the firm press of his clothed cock against your swollen hyper sensitive folds.

“Is this who you are little bridge?” Alucard didn’t hide the madness, the sheer lust and inhuman hunger in his gaze. “Demanding, vindictive, so hungry for her own pleasure she’d make a demand of her master?”  
You don’t answer him, instead to sit upright and begin to grind down on him, shivering over the feeling of fabric growing wet, rubbing with the shape of his cock barely known yet so very present. It’s a heady thing to know how much leverage he’s giving you, allowing you, how he very much could overpower your body, take without question and yet he’s yielding because the thing he really wants cannot be forced. No matter his want and power, in the end you have the key to his lock, the one thing that would make him truly unstoppable, truly immortal.   
“Ah.” You hands grip his torso, rocking over him, breath hitching as you feel the zipper almost rub your swollen folds. Little promises of pain adding to the mounting pleasure.  
“Lu.” His our hands holding your thighs, teasingly working up to grope your ass and knead it, adding to that blissful leverage of being oh so perfectly above him.  
“Card.” His own moan as you reach out with your powers, reach out to let him feel your own, the want, the hunger, the pure sexual release he’s given and the craving you have for more.

Another kiss as you both moan into each other’s mouths, swallowing pride and desire at once.

Purring contentedly as you body warms from the post orgasmic haze you roll off of him, smiling as he mindfully lifts your hip to aid. The wet spot in the front of his pants is dark and leaves his cock strained against the fabric. Part of you wants to reach out, touch it, stroke him and watch him reach completion all while he can’t do anything else. To make him moan and possibly even cry out. But there is already too thin a line between you now, already the seed of his downfall is planted and the seed of your final decent to madness begun. There is no reason to risk more loss of control for the sake of pride and smug satisfaction over the power you wield over him, power he allows you and unwittingly does not know the depths of.   
Still, you stare at his groin, and his red eyes are still dark with lust. Unsated, unsatisfied, he wants more but can’t have it. Not yet anyway. His gloves are still damp and darker than before, and you stare, fascinated as he reaches down, the bite and hiss of the zipper now filling your ears. 

You won’t strike him, touch his organ or give him release- but you will torment him.

His cock is a cock- human in shape, in the red and pink flush of desire. While you know there is no pulse, his veins stand out against skin, head fat with blood his body has instinctively put there to make him erect and swollen. Girthy, you note how heavy it might feel in your hands, how the weight might feel on your tongue- and his length is just as impressive. Nothing like a porn star, but proportional, perfectly long enough to satisfy, to force in and stroke over your core, to shove down your throat and make you choke as he’d flood your senses till tears ran down your face. The scent is faint, but even undead the musk of male desire is primal, and it lingers from him like a mist that cannot be seen or felt- but rather tasted in the air.

Red eyes focus on you as he lays back in your bed, legs half off, feet on the floor, hair a black ahlo around him as he strokes himself, gloves catching on skin, the lack of lubricant no doubt making it slightly painful. But, he likes pain doesn’t he, like it because he knows what comes after, what will match his pain in equal measure.

It’s distressingly fun to lay next to him, to curl into his side, breasts pressed to his arm, leg thrown over on of his own so you can grind your soaked cunt on his hip. You smile as one hand plays in his hair, as the other cups his face, touching him with deceptive gentleness, with a false fondness and intimacy. Each brush of your fingers on his cool skin sends a visible reaction to his cock, the organ jumping when the pads of your digits run down his neck. Your eyes will catch his and see the question in them- will you taste him? Touch him? Give him just a little bit more?

But the answer is no as your fingers dance across his body, as you undo his shirt and tie to reach pale skin, as you play with the shapes and globes of muscle- muscle that followed him from life into death. How strong had he been then? How powerful, how handsome, how deadly and dangerous. The Undying King, the Impaler, now reduced to a man self pleasuring in the bed of a woman who he couldn’t have. 

The mighty had fallen, and you’d fall even further with him.

His mouth tastes lightly of copper as another kiss is shared, as your mouth works it was down his chin, his neck. Your teeth don’t break the skin but the bite is hard and firm- and it has ropes of cool white cum dancing across his torso, landing in thick, creamy globs like pale offerings on paler skin. You look at him as you reach down, gathering some of the fluid, sticky and cool- not warm like the living, not vital, not viable. Inert, just like his heart, just like his mockery and mimicry of love.

Salty and thick, he tastes like sin and copper as your kiss ends with another fang pressed to your tongue, drops of blood mixing with his release. The kiss is debauched, and you smile into his mouth as Alucard radiates satisfaction, as his powers wrap around you both, caressing you inhumanly intimate, inhumanly promising more if you’d allow it.

“I want Alucard.” Red eyes linger on your face, on the hunger no longer abating inside you, on the lust your power has drawn out.  
“I want to kill Dorian.”

His laughter is wild and laced with his joy.

That night, freshly showered and clothed, you lay in the bed where you made a pact of blood and sex.  
Alucard will give you what you want, and in exchange he will get what he wants. A bonded human who will share his immortal life.

Not a thrall, you muse, reaching out, feeling the blood in him, waiting, ready to be called. Not a thrall.  
A master to an undying god.


	11. Carcasses

There was a shift after that night. A change not in the air but in you. Gone was the hesitation, gone was the fear of death. You would cheat it, change it. Die but live- Alucard was key to this plan, but so was Dorian. And while both men were insane in their own ways, one was more inclined to not kill you on a whim. Plus, one had the advantage of being a direct undying king, the other was made from the powers of others, and frankly, you didn’t know how much magic or power from Basil and Henry. 

Better to rely on more stable powers and more stable insane vampires.  
If that even was logical. 

Now, it was just a game of seeing how far you could draw out Dorian in order to kill him. So far, the game consisted of you going out with minimal backup to deal with less of his destined to die offspring and more with other vampiric threats, complete with letting a few drops of your blood spill on the pavement. A lure, a sign. Dorian coveted, and your blood was a way to try and coax him to coming out. So far it been working. Each time you left a bit of blood he’d show up if briefly, to come and try to lick it up. Disgusting, given he was openly and blatantly licking the ground more than not, but also assuring.

He was truly obsessed, and each bit of blood he licked from the dirt and filth, the more you seeped your hold into him. Just as you’d done with Alucard, only unlike your chosen vampire, Dorian was being set up to fall flat on his face. Or well, onto a stake. Semantics. Either way your plans had nothing for Dorian except a permanent death. One that would send his soul right back to hell where it belonged. 

And with the topic of souls.  
“You’re thinking very loudly Choupinette.” Pip rarely got near you after your stunt, but for whatever reason he’d been chatty in the last few days. It was suspicious- while Seras was her own person, she was still the childe of Alucard, and bound to him and his will a fair amount. And by extension, Pip as well. While Alucard had been extremely taken with your lack of morals as of late, he was also pushing each time for more and would try his luck at getting you to capitulate.  
“Does it bother you? To hear the static?”  
He paused. “Is that what it sounds like?” You waited for him to elaborate. “The souls. You said they scream and talk to you. Does it become like static after a while?”  
“I dunno. What do the screams of dying men sound like after you hear so many they all sound the same?” He doesn’t answer that question, and you scoff out loud, going back to what you’d been doing. 

The gun in your hand is small- a pistol designed for quick draw and to be lightweight. Walter Dornez had been a paragon when it came to designing and crafting weapons to fend off the undead, and to date, no replacement was heard of employed by the Hellsing estate. From what you’d been told, they’d scouted a few candidates- But it was a young woman who was the granddaughter of the infamous Neil Goldstien that had made the cut. The gun was her design- apparently she’d taken the job after hearing your plight, but had turned down the more permanent employment offer because ‘I know damn well you government types- And I an’t giving up my secrets to just anybody.’

She sounded fun. She sounded like she’d have a plan to survive if she were in your shoes. Anyone who crafted weapons designed to kill the undead and demonic had to be a survivor by nature. It was the only way to stay afloat. 

But devil arm designing women were not your problem. Heck not even that bitch Benaldes with the church was your problem. What was your problem that the gun, well crafted, made to go right though demonic and vampiric flesh and leave it unable to be healed, wasn’t enough. No weapon was going to help you in reality. No blade or bullet was going to be able to drag a soul out of hell, shove it into a demonic vampire long enough to render them mortal again. 

The time in the state had been fluke, a mistake. Driven to the absolute brink and reaching out in desperation tuning out everything but the single minded thought to survive- You had to do it again. You had to be able to do it on command.

Back then you’d been much more foolish- you trusted too easily, and made friends with a woman you thought was just another medium. She introduced you to her partner- another medium. It had been nice. Just knowing that sometimes, you could find love despite the curse you bore- that sometimes it could even be with someone who would understand it.

But they’d been fast and loose with their powers. They’d take cases and jobs that were with big names- occult fanatics and eventually, vampire devoute.

Since the Millennium siege on mankind years ago, those who’d survived to know the truth had spread it- and many vampire worshiping cults had popped up. Those women had gotten involved with one, trying to ‘help’ a vampire better understand the nature of his curse. He’d told you he offered them 10 million to look into his powers with their own. Greed had been their downfall- that and arrogance. They’d bonded their powers to him thinking they’d be able to overpower him and escape if needed.

They hadn’t. 

Made into thralls, into puppets, he had them act so normal, so fine and aware when they met with you again, when they told their master who you were. What you were. But they’d been broken things even then. Not-virgin, the thralldom hadn’t been effective, their lives were wasting away, slowly dying as the vampire fed on their very souls and life force. 

Lured to your own capture, watching him rape them, making them act like they enjoyed it- It was terrifying. Terrifying because you were a virgin. You’d be like them but worse- unable to die. 

You’d been trapped and waiting for your death when you looked at them from across the room. Looked at them and felt their souls screaming for release.

It burned ripping their souls from their bodies. Severing the vampire’s hold.

He’d been enraged, ripped at your clothes, determined to punish you by forcing you, making you his thrall and obedient puppet, a slave to his whims and desires…

You’d been afraid, and in the moment he bit your neck, right before he violated you, you reached out…

You vomited on the floor. Hellsing’s men shouted with surprise. 

You couldn’t think about what you’d seen, felt, heard- hell. Hell was nothing a human should know and still live. There was a reason the old testament had men going mad upon looking at an angel’s true form, why they’d gone blind.

You couldn’t say what it was like, not really. Your own mind would force it from your thoughts, make you ill to forget. Ripping a vampire’s soul from hell, forcing it back into his body and ripping out his throat with your teeth.

You were a survivor.

You had to be.

You could go to the mainland of Europe still. You had a few contacts- and chances were, Dr. Jekyll would help with the papers if you asked. Heck- a bridge as powerful as you would find good work with a demon hunter or another vampire hunting organization. You were pretty sure the Belmont clan was working up again now that their heir was back. But leaving would mean losing Hellsing’s protection. Would mean Dorian would find you- and if not him, another vampire. If you had to choose?

It was a tie between the Immortal Emperor or Alucard.

At least both would allow some semblance of freedom right? 

“You know- we bridges never bother asking if it hurts to die?” Pip was still there and he remained quite as he observed you, rolling the barrel of the gun in hand.  
“We don’t bother because we know it does. No death is painless- No death is easy. Being alive, dying- everything is pain and a struggle. Death is just a gateway to a new form of it. Death isn’t a mercy.” You thought of those women, made into imperfect dying thralls doomed to suffer.  
“It’s just a different form of pain we have to endure until it all ends.”

Pip vanished, perhaps perturbed at your words and the ire in your thoughts. It didn’t matter though- what mattered…

What mattered was surviving. Living another day. Manipulating Alucard and Dorian so when the time came they’re destroy each other, and you’d use the winner to save yourself. You’d survived it once before. 

You’d seen hell before and lived.

Alucard’s lips on the back of your neck, cold and pressing, his hands at you chest, rubbing teasing. Not bothered by the fact that Hellsing’s men were in the room to witness his brazen behavior, his lechery.  
“Your killing intent sweet bridge.” His towering form loomed over you till he pulled you up into his arms like a bride.  
“It’s intoxicating.” He tasted like copper pennies- he’d drunk recently. How far had you’d gone that no longer did the taste of blood bother you? That knowing he’d drunk from a stranger, that their blood now danced between your mouth and tongues no longer disgusted you? 

It doesn’t matter you thought, moaning into his touch, his lips and hands and ignoring the gaze of Hellsing’s men. Ignored their own lust for what you’d never give.

Nothing mattered.

You let your tongue cut on his fang letting him drink, letting him poison himself a little more.

None of it mattered.

He laughed later as he’d busy himself on your bed, licking your naked body and asking for permission just to grin when denied.

Nothing mattered.

He was a demon. A vampire of unholy power and infernal contract.

The only thing that mattered…

“I adore you little bridge.” 

The one thing that mattered…

He came on your skin- warm. It tasted like nothing.

Survival.

He held you that night, chased away the nightmares of your own death.

All that mattered was surviving one more day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sprinkles in 2 refs to my favorite videogame series because self care also cuthulu is later


	12. Feral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your grip on sanity and humanity slips further and further away, as madness takes root. Alucard learns how far you will go, and you both plan for a freedom that remains uncertain.

This was unexpected. Or rather, the gravity of it was. 

Dorian’s obsession and determination was reaching new more brazen heights. Attacking people who were known. Making more and more graphic scenes, setting more and more freshly turned out into the world with the sole purpose to kill and cause chaos. Sir Hellsing was slowly losing her tight control of the circle council, and the queen herself had begun to press for more diligent action.

It wasn’t the problem though. The problem was that despite swaddling yourself in Alucard’s powers, using him to ground yourself when you tapped into the dead and lingering, your grip on human rational was fading faster than you’d like.   
A normal person wouldn’t even think about killing another just to get to their target faster. But you had, you’d nearly ordered a screaming survivor torn apart just to get to a vampire faster, just to stop hearing her scream for help. The lack of empathy and humanity was starting to wear you down, and as the nights grew longer with winter’s onset, you knew there was little time left to manifest your plans in full.

Time moved on, and you couldn’t stall it much more.

Dorian’s latest venture was to brutally kill his victims, leaving them in facsimile of impaling and other more… archaic methods of barbaric death scenes. The impalement was clearly a taunt to Alucard, would frown at the displays, commenting on a lack of finesse and how he killed first then would skewer his victims and lift them into the air. According to him it was best done when the person was alive.

How… curious. You shouldn’t be but you were. What was it like to impale someone while they were alive? How did one do it properly? Did they bleed out internally first? Or just pass out from shock as they expired? Your lack of humanity reared it’s head as you mouth watered, thinking of how erotic Alucard would be in such elements, if he were allowed to be untethered to anyone but you, free to kill all who would oppose you- 

Alucard must have felt you hunger for power and lust, luring you again to the darkness where he serviced you with his fingers, debauching you and sinking you further into his grasp. Where he further sank his power into your own, letting you leech off of it openly now, not knowing every drop he gave you swallowed a cup more.  
And for every cup you took, you gave back in kind. Such was your plan at any rate.

Hellsing found your recent gravity towards the vampire your spurned alarming but-  
“It’s the natural way of things Hellsing.” Never Sir. Never anything but a name. No power, no titles, just a name. Just another human. “If I want to live, this is the course I must take. If it’s of any comfort, he’s not disagreeable I bed- far from it.”

“I don’t need to know-“

“Ah, but that’s the humor of it all isn’t it?” You sneered at her openly. “You know he’ll have me soon, and it won’t sate him. Seras didn’t, she was to pliant, too yielding. I’ll break soon enough. And once that happens, his fixations will return to you won’t they?” You smiled for her as her expression hardened. The truth did that often enough.   
“You’ll have to deny it again, and oh, how it must burn to know how close you could have everything… but at a cost you can’t give up along with your pride.” She dismissed you with a cold tone and you accepted the ire. Hellsing was a fool to think you’d keep her vampire from her. She’d die by his fangs, willing or not one day. 

The nights grew longer. Fitting, as they longer they grey, the more of your humanity you lost. Part of you wondered if this was the true cost of doing what you did, of tethering a vampire to you, binding him to you nd your powers. That in exchange you must become inhuman yourself, losing humanity and empathy. 

There were sayings that everything comes with a cost, and all things had a price. Alchemy called it equivalent exchange. Some the Devil’s Due. You were not sure yet- was this price God’s edict, or that of the Devil extracting what he could before you took one of his most powerful from him?

“We need to lure him out fully.” You were tired of being stuck in your own head, of being stuck trying to find a means by which to fight off an inevitable. You had Alucard swaddled in your grasp as much as you dared, and time was running out just like daylight.   
“Dorian is causing problems even I can’t ignore- soon other mediums and Bridges will get drawn in.” More like you, more sacrifices to a madman determined to cheat his own death and the one who would have his debt paid in full. “It’s time we take the fight to him.”

Alucard hummed, half nude, laying in your tub as you dried off from your bath, ignoring the way water clung to pale skin, begging to be drunk, licked away. “And where would you suggest this fight be my little Bridge?” Red eyes were dark with that hunger, only now for blood and not sex.

“…If you were determined to have the descendant of the man you wanted, the man you killed, where would you feel most at peace? Most… connected?”

He laughed and you grimaced at it. Basil’s studio was not a studio anymore, just another over priced apartment in London. You had no doubt the current tenants were dead or soon would be. It should matter but you were numb, dull to the sadness of the loss of life. It was wasteful, that dark part said. Wasteful- they could have been useful pawns or food for him.

What did it matter? Life and death were not that different, not really. Suffering and joy could be found in both. Hunger and lust as well. The dead didn’t care much for the problems of the living, just their own. Just as the living lived ignorant of the dead. It was just the way of things. 

It was the way of things for everyone but you.

It would take a week to plan Hellsing told you. She couldn’t afford the plan leaking so it would be just you, Alucard, Seras, and a handful of her most trusted men. Frankly, the humans were just fodder, zombies in waiting you said as much even and got a yelling for it. Fine, you had tried to spare them, be human again, but if a yelling and dismissal was all it got you? Humanity could fuck right off. 

“So far you’ve fallen.” Gloved hands caressed your neck, a mocking gesture of affection. “I wonder if he’ll blame me for it.”

“It’s best to hope he does. Killing me is off the menu but torture isn’t.” You recalled the pain of nearly being torn apart, “Can’t say I’m a fan of it when on the receiving end.”

“And if you were the one behind the mask so to say?” He kept up his touch, as if reminding you ‘here I am, I could kill you if I closed my fist. I own you now, and there will be no going back, no escape.’ Such dramatics, such a flair for theater, your vampire.

“He deserves it.” Those would be warlocks. The women. The other mediums and bridges. The innocents and the humans who’d been nothing more than pawns manipulated and killed in his bid to hunt you down and have you. “I want him to suffer Alucard.” You wanted him to hurt, hurt like all those he had hurt feel. You wanted him to die, over and over again until he begged to be sent to hell.

“You plan to use your powers to strip him bare.” The words ghosted over you, a cold blanket of wonder and awe from a being that often did not experience it. “You plan to make him alive.” Alucard laughed at it, but you shrugged. It had been done before. You’d do it again. Make his heart beat just long enough to stop it forever.

“Does that make you fear me Alucard?” The hand at your next stopped moving. “You act like I can’t do it.” You tilted your head back, exposing your throat, looking up at him and seeing nothing in those red eyes. “You act like I’m your thrall already, beholden to you, unable to do as I will.” Hands reached up, cupped his face like a lover- lovers you were in all but God’s eyes.   
“Are you afraid that I might chose to kill you and he both? Strip you both down to nothing, make you writhe in pain of mortality before I carve out your hearts and feast upon them, salvaging my sanity at the expense of my soul?” You smiled at him and you saw something in his gaze, something wonderous.

“How much power could I get for them? The hearts and souls of two immortals who would fashion themselves as kings. Two men who would think to rule over women and mortals. Two devils who escaped hell- your master would pay me well, a wager I’d win. I could live, free, immortal, no longer fearing death or capture or anything your kind might inflict. I would surpass Jekyll, surpass Basil, even Lovecraft himself!” You pant, the rush of power heady. Alucard- Alucard’s face was paler than normal, his hand on your neck frozen.

“The elder gods, fallen demons, hellsish beasts locked in the marinas trench could be under my command, the undying dead ones servants to me and me alone. The devil himself would pay me homage in due time. I could make myself a God. I could challenge God Alucard.” Red eyes fixed on your own.

“And one day, you and I both know I would win.”

His hand fell to his side before he grabbed you, lips hard against your mouth, tongue pushing past your lips and demanding a taste of the madness that spilled from your mouth. No lies- the devil himself would pay a pretty penny for two damned souls and all their powers returned. You were no Jekyll- you had ambition, You had want and cunning and a survivors mind. You could do it all. 

And Alucard knew you would if it suited your fancy.

Your laughter echoed in the manor as he fell to his knees there in the hallway, tearing at your clothes, almost feverish in his need to worship you. And worship he would. Smiling, purring as he went to work between your legs you moaned as you pictured it.   
This- the most powerful vampire on his knees, begging to service you, to do you bidding. An immortal who’s powers were yours to claim, who’s death would grant you eternal life even if his was snuffed out. Yes, you liked that, you liked the image of him serving you, of him at your disposal.

By the time you came Alucard looking up at you madness and wonder in those red eyes. Alight with such joy, such insane bliss, his mouth slick with your fluids, his cock strained against his pants- The sound he made when you brushed your boot over it, the satisfaction of feeling him rut against you chasing his release like a common whore. Heady- this power. Heady, the knowledge he was playing with you, pretending, knowing you had threatened him with a true death and had the power to carry it out.

Maybe when it was all done… you’d reward him. Indulge him. Bring forth the deep slumbering ones and let him fight them, see who would win. Let him drink their blood and grow his power, grow your own. Oh what fun it would be. What bliss freedom would be.

You smiled as he carried you back to your rooms, both of you sated, both of you unaware of the man who buzzed in to meet with Hellsing. 

Unaware that the game would soon reach it’s conclusion, and not how you planned it at all.


End file.
